


Never Sleeping Again

by justdk



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Camping, Fighting, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, More angst, Multi, Mutual adoration, Panic Attacks, Soulmates, Tea, Tea Boys, Tea Boys AU, Verbal Abuse, ronan and adam both have significant baggage, shower scene, this is generally a happy fic with some angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2018-09-19 13:42:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 92,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9443672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justdk/pseuds/justdk
Summary: Matthew Lynch sets up his older brother, Ronan, with the local herbal tea dealer, Adam Parrish. Awkward flirting ensues!





	1. Chapter 1

Ronan Lynch was in a terrible mood. The hot summer sun was burning his fair skin, leaving his nose, cheekbones, neck, and shoulders tender and pink. And he was sweating, his standard black muscle tee clinging to his torso as he followed Matthew through the crowds at the Saturday farmer’s market. The vendors all knew Matthew by name and they called out to him, asking him to try samples of jam, fudge, and baked goods. They did not call out to Ronan, which suited him just fine. He was only here at Matthew’s request. He had been woken up at an ungodly hour to find Matthew perched on the end of his bed, begging him to go to the market.

“Why don’t you ask Declan?” Ronan grumbled as he pulled his pillow over his face.

“ _Ronan_ ,” Matthew whined, “you _have_ to come!”

“No,” Ronan said.

“But there’s um, something special there. Something you’ll like.”

This was enough to get Ronan to toss his pillow on the floor and give Matthew an appraising look.

“Something I’d like, huh? I really can’t imagine what that would be,” Ronan said. Matthew had a playful but shifty look on his face, like he was trying to not give away the punch line to a good joke. “Okay, fine, whatever,” Ronan growled as he got out of bed and pulled on some clothes. “Just don’t make waking me up this early a regular thing.”

So here they were, in a scene that would have charmed the pants off Gansey but made Ronan feel like he was having a severe allergic reaction. Even the free samples of gelato did not make him feel better. As Matthew chatted up one of the little old ladies selling crocheted oven mitts, Ronan tried to imagine what Gansey was up to. He has gone home to Washington, D.C. for the weekend, claiming a mild family emergency (read: his incredibly photogenic face was needed for a family photoshoot/propaganda). Picturing Gansey sweating in a suit while plastering on his people-pleasing smile for endless retakes made Ronan feel slightly better. It was good to know that he was not alone in his suffering.

Matthew bought two oven mitts from the old lady, though Ronan had no idea what he planned to do with them, and then he was off, this time making a beeline for a small table that was squeezed between a middle aged man selling honey and an eccentric woman offering to read tarot for $5 per session. The table was covered in tins of various sizes and the sign proclaimed that this was “Ley Line Organic Teas.”

Ronan did not care about the teas. His attention was focused on the boy selling the teas. The boy had a hungry, underfed look about him, his peculiar and striking face almost gaunt, making his eyes stand out even more. They looked… _dreamy_. Ronan shook himself. Falling for a Henrietta tea vendor, no matter how cute he was, was not something that he needed. Ronan glared at Matthew, who was asking the boy about the peppermint tea blend. His face was as innocent as usual but Ronan _knew_ that this was Matthew’s motive for dragging him to the market: to introduce him to Tea Boy.

“All the herbal blends have ingredients that come from local, organic farms,” the boy was explaining to Matthew, his Henrietta accent drawing out his vowels in a way that was music to Ronan’s ears. “But the blends with tea are prepared and packaged through a tea company. I just design the blends.” His eyes darted to Ronan and away. His quick glance was almost furtive.

“Wow!” Matthew exclaimed. “That’s so cool! Ronan, come here and smell this tea. Doesn’t this smell like mom’s garden?”

Ronan edged towards the table, moving cautiously so he wouldn’t spook the Tea Boy. Inside he felt the intense push/pull war that ensued whenever he took an interest in another guy. He felt angry, and part of him wanted to scare the boy away before he even had a chance, but the part of him that was currently in control was doing everything it could to play nice, to be approachable.

Ronan obediently leaned down and smelled the tea that Matthew thrust towards him. Impossibly, it _did_ smell like their mother’s herb garden. Ronan felt woozy as an overpowering wave of nostalgia swept over him and he longed to go back, back to the Barns, back _home_.

Matthew looked at Ronan expectantly and he managed a small nod before offering his opinion. “It does smell like home.” His voice was gravelly with emotion and Tea Boy gave him a piercing look. Usually Ronan would stare back until things grew uncomfortable but he looked away quickly and picked up a tin at random.

“That’s my special Early Morning Tea,” Tea Boy said. “It’s herbal, so it doesn’t have any caffeine, but I think the lemon zest does a fair job of stimulating wakefulness.”

Ronan made a noise like “Hmm” and stole a brief glance at Tea Boy’s face. Yep, still cute. Tea Boy was nervously stacking and rearranging the tins while Matthew prattled on about how much he loved a nice cup of tea in the morning (Ronan wasn’t sure this was strictly true but he didn’t interrupt). The boy’s hands were _gorgeous_ : long slender fingers that some people would describe as “clever” or artist’s hands, but Ronan could see the faint scars mostly hidden by the boy’s tan complexion and he figured that the hands were being put to other work, something that left its mark…

“Ronan has trouble sleeping,” Matthew said, jerking Ronan out of his too prolonged study of the boy’s hands. He glared at Matthew again. He had no idea why his brother was going out of his way to try and set him up with an organic tea blender but it was downright embarrassing.

“Is that right?” Tea Boy asked. “I also have problems with insomnia,” he confessed. He rubbed at the dark purple shadows below his eye, an unconscious gesture that Ronan found to be unreasonably adorable. “I have another herbal blend that could help. It doesn’t work on me but most of my clients say that it helps them when they can’t fall asleep.”

He passed a tin to Ronan and their fingers touched, briefly, and Ronan _swore_ he felt an electric charge go through him. He jerked his hand back, almost dropping the tin. Tea Boy also pulled his hand away and then cradled it to his chest. There was this look on his face that was too perceptive for Ronan’s peace of mind. Ronan studied the tin like his life depended on it. The label appeared to be hand lettered, the penmanship had a unique loveliness that made Ronan immediately picture Tea Boy hunched over a crowded table, painstakingly writing out each label with his beautiful hands. The tea was called _Sweet Dreams_ and was described as a blend of peppermint, with sweet clover and vanilla.

“I also make that as a blooming tea,” Tea Boy said. He opened up a larger tin and showed Ronan and Matthew. Inside there were about ten round buds. The boy explained that you put the bud in a clear teapot, added boiling water, and watched the bud unfurl. There was a picture on the tin that showed what, to Ronan’s eyes, appeared to be an underwater floral arrangement. It looked very pretty.

Matthew made cooing, appreciative noises so Ronan said, “Er, I’ll take one tin of the blooming teas, then. And um, one of the teas that smells like a garden.”

“You mean First Bloom?” the boy asked. He was looking at Ronan in a way that made Ronan feel very uncomfortable.

“Yeah, sure, that one,” Ronan muttered. Matthew took the opportunity, now that business was being transacted, to wander off. Ronan felt slightly panicked, left alone with this ridiculously cute boy that he couldn’t seem to talk to for anything. He handed over the money for the tea, taking care to not touch the boy again, to not be awkward. He was sweating buckets.

“Here you go,” Tea Boy said, handing Ronan a small brown bag.

“Thanks,” Ronan mumbled, tucking the bag under his arm and looked around for Matthew.

“I’m Adam, by the way,” the boy said. “Adam Parrish.” He held out his hand. Ronan stared at him, at his hand, before quickly wiping his clammy palm on his jeans and shaking Adam’s hand. Adam’s grip was firm and confident; it was very much a man’s handshake, something that boys were taught at a young age. Normally Ronan would have no problem mimicking this shake but right now he was freaking out and trying to catalog the way  _Adam’s_ hand felt in his.

Ronan swallowed hard. “I’m Ronan Lynch,” he said.

Adam gave him a cocky smile and said, “I know.”

Ronan nodded like _that_ made sense, still shaking Adam’s hand until Adam cleared his throat and tugged.

“Can I get my hand back?” Adam asked.

“What? I mean, yes, of course,” Ronan said, stumbling over his words. “Right, um, thanks for the tea. I’ll, ah, see you around.”

Adam smiled, showing off perfectly white, straight teeth, and said, “Yes, yes you will. Good to meet you, Ronan Lynch.”


	2. Never Sleeping Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronan brews some tea and spends time pining!

Matthew talked the entire way back to Aglionby Academy and he was not at all bothered by Ronan’s tense silence. Ronan paid no attention to Matthew, and barely any to driving, as he puzzled over _Adam Parrish_. It was a nice name and suited the slender boy in the faded T-shirt. _Adam_. Ronan wanted to say the name out loud and taste it in his mouth. _Parrish. Adam Parrish. Adam…_

“So Adam seems nice, right?”

Ronan jumped in his seat and about jerked the car off the road.

“What?” he asked, voice gruff.

“I said,” Matthew sang out, “Adam seems nice, right???”

“Yes,” Ronan admitted. “But you already knew that, didn’t you? That was your whole ploy, finding me ‘something nice.’”

Matthew hummed happily, sticking his hand out the car window and weaving it through the air.

“Adam is not _something_ ,” Ronan added, just so he could finally say Adam’s name out loud.

“Duh!” Matthew responded. “But if I had said ‘Hey Ronan there’s this really cute guy you should meet’ you never would have come with me.”

Ronan shrugged because it was true. “I just never figured you for the sneaky type,” Ronan commented. “Don’t start taking after Declan. Declan lies.”

“I wish you guys would just make up already,” Matthew whined.

“Oh, look, we’re already here,” Ronan said, effectively ending the conversation.

Matthew’s attention shifted immediately, just like it always did. He climbed out of the car and Ronan helped him carry his bags and bags of locally grown and/or made goods back to his dorm room. Matthew started telling Ronan _again_ about how excited he was about Ms. Gloria’s plum preserves and Mr. Grey’s honey, or how much his friends were going to _love_ the gluten free cheese straws. Ronan tuned Matthew out and listened to the loud bass music thumping from _Modesty_ , the room belonging to Prokopenko. Ronan had seen Kavinsky’s car in the lot and was betting that Kavinsky was currently inhabiting _Modesty_ and most likely being anything but. Ronan was careful to not be loud and alert the occupants of the room to his presence on the hall. For the first time in a long time Ronan wanted to avoid running into Henrietta’s most infamous bad boy.

Back at Monmouth Manufacturing, Ronan took stock of the tiny kitchen that shared space with the bathroom. There were plenty of tea mugs and there was even an electric kettle (because Gansey was posh and probably secretly wanted to be English). However there was not a single teapot or strainer to be found. Ronan slammed the few rickety drawers and cupboard doors to vent his frustration. He studied the scant cooking utensils to see if anything could be substituted for a strainer but again there was nothing usable. He grumbled to himself about rich boys who couldn’t be bothered to stock their own kitchens (all the while ignoring the hypocrisy of being one of the rich boys who shared the kitchen).

Noah came out of his room to see what the racket was all about and Ronan explained his dilemma. Noah suggested going to the dollar store but Ronan did not want to go out into the Henrietta heat if he could help it. He flopped down on Gansey’s unmade bed and stared at the ceiling. Noah lay down on the bed too, going the opposite direction, but making sure his face was side by side with Ronan’s. He turned his head to the side and blew air into Ronan’s ear. Ronan smacked him in the face.

“Stop that,” Ronan commanded.

Noah pretended to cry before doing it again. Ronan grabbed one of Gansey’s pillows and repeatedly hit Noah with it until Noah was laughing so hard that he rolled off the bed.

“Go away,” Ronan said, “I’m trying to sleep.”

“Only if you tell me why on God’s green earth you have two tins of organic, _herbal_ tea,” Noah said, perching on the bed out of the reach of Ronan’s long arms.

“I’m investing in the local economy,” Ronan deadpanned.

“That sounds suspiciously close to a lie, Mr. Lynch,” Noah teased.

Ronan shrugged carelessly. Noah stared at him, squinting his eyes as if he could somehow see into Ronan’s brain.

“Fine, don’t tell me,” Noah sighed. “But if I had to guess, I’d say you’re investing in _someone_ , not something.”

“Sleeping,” Ronan growled.

Once Ronan was sure that Noah had left the room he got up and took the tea into his room. He closed the door and locked it for good measure, kicked off his jeans, and collapsed on his bed. The room was dim, the heavy blinds on the window blocking out the early afternoon light. Ronan closed his eyes and listened to the sleepy, creaky sounds of the building, the whirring of his fan. He opened the tin of _First Bloom_ tea and inhaled the scent of a dew soaked herb garden, creeping summer roses, and sweet lavender. He thought about Adam and he thought about home and as he stretched out on the bed he let himself dream.

Ronan dreamed of the Barns. He was standing in the kitchen, the counters lined with practical and impractical appliances, each one unique. Ronan wanted to explore the house, go upstairs to his room and rummage though the odds and ends he couldn’t take with him, but he knew that he didn’t have time. He was on a mission. He was looking for…he struggled to remember. A sweet scent wafted through the room, something nice and floral. It smelled like home and yet, not. Then he remembered: he was here to find a teapot and a strainer. He knew that his mother had both items somewhere.

He searched through the cupboards and way in the back he found what he was looking for: a clear glass teapot. It looked ordinary but probably wasn’t. Ronan set it carefully on the kitchen counter while he looked through all the drawers for a strainer. He found one nestled between a lethal looking cheese grater and some peculiar measuring spoons that did not appear to be standard size. Ronan snagged one of his dad’s old mugs for good measure; it was a novelty mug that his father had brought back from his travels and the slogan on it read, in a cheerful, kelly green font, “Kiss Me, I’m An Asshole.”

With all the items gathered there came the tricky part, getting them back to Monmouth. Ronan had only done this a few times, mostly be accident. He held the objects and memorized how they felt: their weight and texture, their shape and colors. He cradled the teapot, strainer, and mug in his arms and he willed himself to WAKE UP.

This was how Noah found him: sprawled on his bed, tin of tea spilled over his covers, and his arms full of tea making instruments. It took Ronan awhile to emerge from his post-dream stupor, and of course Noah didn’t help him clean up the tea. Finally he got up and took everything to the kitchen. The miniscule table, already piled with cereal boxes and bags of chips, hardly had room for the teapot and mug and electric kettle. Ronan filled the kettle, turned it on, and grabbed the tin of _First Bloom_ tea (salvaged from his sheets and now contaminated with tiny flecks of lint). Instructions on how to brew the perfect cup or pot of tea were included on a label pasted to the tin. (Ronan noticed it was typed, not handwritten. He was disappointed but really, he couldn’t expect Adam to hand write hundreds of sets of instructions.)

Ronan studied the instructions and it seemed fairly straightforward. He measured a teaspoon of tea and put it in the strainer and waited impatiently for the water to boil, then he poured the water through the strainer, waited even more impatiently for the tea to steep (FIVE MINUTES; incidentally, the strainer emitted a jaunty Irish reel once the correct brewing time had passed), and then waited some more until the tea was cool enough to drink. Or not. Ronan still burned his tongue and the inside of his mouth, and scalded his throat. Noah, who been observing the entire process, laughed at him.

After much swearing and eating an entire tray of ice cubes Ronan was able to finish drinking the tea. It was good? Ronan didn’t know. It definitely tasted herbal. He read the description again: “ _A delicate blend of aromatic, garden herbs. Contains: lavender, rose petals, lemon verbena, chamomile, and dandelion._ ” It was times like these that Ronan especially missed his mother. She would have been able to give good feedback on the tea, which he could then share with Adam. More importantly, she would have given him advice about talking with Adam.

Ronan sank to the floor, cradling the mug in his hands. He missed his mother and his father in a way that never became easier to bear. He missed the way his family used to be, the warmth and love that was intrinsic to their way of life. He would never get to tell his father about Adam, or introduce him to his mother…

With a sigh Ronan got to his feet and rinsed out the mug. He was being entirely too sentimental, and over _tea_ and a boy he met only hours ago. It didn’t make any sense, but as Ronan traced the elegant, swooping letters on the tea label, he hoped.

_…to be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The return of Gansey! Tea is consumed! Gansey has an unexpected reaction to the mint tea...

Ronan and Noah were sprawled on top of the BMW when Gansey returned to Henrietta. It was dusk: the mosquitoes were biting, fireflies were blinking in the tall grass, and the frog colony that lived in the ditch was croaking louder than the music blaring from Ronan’s headphones. Ronan was eating his feelings, devouring a bag of sunflower seeds. He didn’t particularly like sunflower seeds but he did like to spit the shells at Noah who would try to deflect them back towards Ronan (this was why they were outside; Gansey had banned sunflower seeds and watermelons from Monmouth for this very reason). Noah had just blocked a shell, which landed with eerie precision in Ronan’s eye, when they heard the roar of the Pig approaching. Ronan propped himself up on his elbows and pulled his headphones down around his neck; Noah took advantage of his distraction and dumped a handful of wet, chewed up shells down the back of Ronan’s shirt.

This was why Gansey found Ronan standing on the hood of his car, shirtless, throwing sunflower seeds at Noah as Noah tried to hide under the BMW.

“I see things haven’t changed while I’ve been gone,” Gansey said dryly. He pulled a vintage, designer suitcase from the backseat of the Pig and slammed the door shut.

“Gansey!” Noah shouted. “Ronan is trying to _kill_ me!!” He looked far too pleased by the idea.

“You put wet sunflower shells down my shirt, you shit!” Ronan yelled back.

Gansey heaved a deep, dramatic sigh, but Ronan saw the happy, relieved look in his eyes. Gansey didn’t like being away from Henrietta anymore than Ronan liked him being away.

“Children,” Gansey intoned, using his best Patriarch of the Ages voice, “I am wearied by my travels and must seek the comforts of my abode. Pray, cease this petty squabbling and help me consume this enormous pizza.” He produced a Nino’s pizza box from the passenger seat.

“Sausage and avocado?” Ronan asked eagerly.

“Verily.”

“Man, it better not taste like gasoline fumes,” Ronan said. But really he was thrilled. Staying at Monmouth reduced his chances of running into his two nemeses: his brother Declan and Kavinsky.

Later, after the pizza was demolished and Gansey had related his Washington, D.C. woes, Ronan brought out the tea tins and handed them to Gansey.

“Ley Line Organic Teas,” Gansey murmured, his eyes alight. He glanced up at Ronan. “Coincidence?” he asked.

“Coincidence,” Ronan replied with a smirk. There were no such things as _coincidences_ , not around Gansey.

Gansey studied the tin and opened it to smell the tea. He made an appreciative noise that sent Ronan’s heart racing. He didn’t _need_ Gansey to approve of Adam’s tea, not really, but he desperately wanted him to.

“Have you tried it?” Gansey asked. Ronan nodded. “Was it any good?”

“Hmm,” Ronan hummed. “It was tea? I don’t know, man! It’s been ages since I drank tea and the kind my mom made was sweet and it had ice in it.”

Gansey opened the tin of blooming tea and admired the tightly wrapped buds. “My mom and Helen drink this kind of tea,” he observed. “I’ve never had it but we should try it.”

“Right now?” Ronan asked, excited that Gansey was getting into this tea thing.

“Why not?” Gansey replied. Ronan got up and went to the kitchen/bathroom to start the kettle. He selected one of the buds and put it in the clear teapot and waited for the water to boil.

Noah picked up one of the buds and held it close to his eye. He squinted and rotated it, his brow furrowed. “How did he manage to get this thing to hold his shape?” he asked, marveling.

“That’s a good question,” Gansey said. He sounded like he wanted to give Noah a gold star. “We should ask this…what’s his name, Ronan?”

Ronan almost could not say _his_ name, like he wanted to hoard it. He cleared his throat and spat out the words, “Adam Parrish.”

“Well, we shall ask Mr. Parrish what wizardry his possesses that enables him to make such gloriously constructed tea.”

The kettle started whistling and Ronan turned away to attend to it. He was suddenly not feeling so great about Gansey meeting Adam. Because Gansey was just so… _Gansey_. He charmed everyone. If charming was an Olympic sport he would win the gold, over and over and over again. _Of course_ Adam would be charmed and then… Ronan bit his lip and tried to banish the dark turn of his thoughts. He knew next to nothing about Adam Parrish, and he wasn’t Ronan’s to worry about.

Ronan carefully picked up the teapot and carried it out to where Gansey was reclining in his model Henrietta. Noah crowded in behind Ronan and the three of them stared in fascination as the tight green bud of tea began to slowly unfurl. It was like poetry, or ballet, or watching a sped up video of mushrooms sprouting in a forest. They held their breath as mint leaves stretched out, one by one, around a stalk of vanilla bean, before revealing the clover flower in the middle. Noah actually clapped and Gansey sucked in a quick breath. Ronan felt awed and baffled. He imagined Adam with a tray of leaves and flowers spread out before him, one eye squinted shut, as he somehow wove all the pieces together into _this_. He already thought Adam Parrish was wonderful, but now…now he thought that he might be magical as well.

The quiet in the warehouse was profound and none of them wanted to say a word. Ronan lifted the lid off the teapot and inhaled the sweet, minty aroma. Gansey and Noah leaned in too until they were all almost nose to nose. Of course that was when the teapot began flashing techno lights and shrilling the chorus of “Hey Jude” by the Beatles. The reactions were immediate and dramatic: Gansey yelped and threw himself backwards into the Henrietta public library, Noah sprang straight up into the air like a startled cat, and Ronan spouted a string of filthy expletives while shielding his eyes with his forearm.

“Christ!” Gansey shouted, trying to disentangle himself from the cardboard remains of the library. “Lynch, where did you find that terrible teapot?”

Ronan was not allowed to return to the Barns while he was awake, and as he had yet to reveal his dreaming abilities to his friends he simply shrugged and muttered that it was a family heirloom.

“Some heirloom,” Gansey grouched. His face was flushed pink with embarrassment and his perfect hair was disheveled. It was a good look for him, Ronan thought.

“I think that the tea is done,” Ronan observed. Noah brought out three mugs and Ronan poured the tea. He blew on his, remembering his earlier mishap and burned tongue. Tentatively he took a sip and swished the tea around in his mouth; this was how wine tasters did their thing so he figured it should work for tea, too. Cool mint, warm, mellow vanilla, and the sweet, barely there taste of clover. Ronan drank some more. It was nice, very nice. It actually made him feel sort of relaxed. He looked over at Gansey.

Gansey’s eyes were closed and it looked like he was having a moment. A rapturous moment. Ronan adverted his eyes because Gansey’s expression was getting a little too erotic for public viewing. Noah was staring unabashedly at Gansey, his mug held to his nose. Ronan was fairly sure that there was nothing illicit in the tea that would account for Gansey’s obvious euphoria but…well…

“This is really good tea!” Gansey exclaimed. “The mint!” He quickly drank the rest of his tea and poured another cup, savoring it.

Noah snorted and nudged Ronan with his foot. “Mint is like Gansey’s catnip,” he stage whispered. Ronan rolled his eyes.

“Adam said that this tea is supposed to help you sleep,” Ronan explained. He and Gansey shared a significant look; they were both longstanding members of Henrietta Insomniacs Anonymous. “Though he did tell me that it doesn’t work for him.”

“Tragic,” Gansey sighed. “So when do I get to meet the mysterious Adam Parrish?”

Ronan’s heart surged but he tried to keep his cool. It would be okay; Gansey could meet Adam and it. would. be. okay.

“The farmers’ market is on Saturday, so in a week.”

Gansey eyed the tin of _Sweet Dreams_ covetously. “Good,” he said, “I imagine we’ll need to buy some more tea.”

_…to be continued…_


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A second Adam sighting! But what will happen when Gansey meets Adam...?!

Ronan was awake even earlier than he had been the week before. To be honest, he had never gone to bed. He had made a pyramid of cards with Noah (until Noah accidentally knocked it over), translated some Latin texts for Gansey, listened to 5 dubstep playlists while doing crunches, pushups, pullups, handstands, and any other indoor physical exercise that he could think of. He had ignored fifteen texts and three calls from Joseph Kavinsky, each message more lurid and descriptive than the one before. In the predawn hours he had gone for a walk to St. Agnes and had climbed up to the balcony and nursed a thermos of _Sweet Dreams_ tea. He thought about Adam and tried not to think about Adam because all he had to go on was a few words, a few smiles, and that mystifying statement when he told Adam he’d see him around: _Yes, yes you will. Good to meet you, Ronan Lynch._ People didn’t say shit like that to him. Cute guys _definitely_ didn’t say that shit to him.

Sleepless nights were Ronan’s forte, a bragging right and a shared bond with Gansey. Having a sleepless night on account of an enticing herbal tea boy was new. It was vexing. As soon as the sun rose Ronan returned to Monmouth and went about the laborious process of waking Gansey. Gansey, when he found sleep, held on to it with a tenacity that Ronan typically admired but today he had no patience for. He had to resort to drastic measures: brewing a pot of Adam’s tea and holding a cup of it beneath Gansey’s nose until he woke up.

Gansey’s hazel eyes were bloodshot and red rimmed, dark smudges of shadow gave him a haunted look. Still, he looked surprisingly appealing for someone who had just reentered the world of conscious thought: tousled brown hair, pillow creases in his perfect face, a sleepy, bewildered look in his eyes. Ronan scowled. Only Gansey could look so woeful and endearing this early in the morning.

“Ronan?” Gansey asked. His voice was small and childlike. Ronan scowled harder and thrust the cup of tea into Gansey’s hands.

“The market starts in an hour,” Ronan growled.

Gansey sipped the tea and closed his eyes in bliss. “I don’t need an hour to get ready,” he murmured, “you could have let me sleep.”

“I need you sober,” Ronan snapped. “You know drinking that tea makes you…odd.” Ronan was already moving away from Gansey’s bed and towards his room. He had quickly learned that Adam’s particular blend of mint tea had some unexpected and disturbing side effects, at least when Gansey was drinking it.

“It’s no fun to drink alone,” Gansey said, his tone plaintive and dreamy. Ronan scoffed and shut the door to his room, but not before he heard Noah reply, “That’s okay, Gansey, I’ll keep you company.”

\---

Sitting in the passenger seat of the Pig, Ronan distracted himself from the roiling mass of nerves that had replaced his internal organs by playing DJ. He was struggling to find the right music. Normally he would torment Gansey by playing dubstep, EDM, or the infamous Murder Squash Song. But that didn’t set the right tone for “Going to Meet the Tea Boy of My Dreams and Introduce Him to My Tragically Handsome Best Friend Who Might Actually Steal His Heart and Make Him Mr. Adam Gansey.” Perhaps no such song existed. Ronan set his mp3 player to shuffle and skipped over songs almost as soon as they started.

Gansey, for once, did not complain about Ronan’s music. Ronan glanced over and was irritated to see that Gansey was looking very becoming in his stupid blue Polo shirt and khakis, his expression still mellow and soft from his early morning tea experience. Ronan had encountered a brief moment of crippling self-doubt that morning when he went to dress himself; part of him wanted to impress Adam, part of him knew that it was best to just be himself, and then he realized the indecision was pointless because all he owned were black muscle tees and jeans. Problem solved. But he had shaved and _that_ , at least, he felt quite good about.

They made a brief detour at Aglionby to pick up Matthew (ebullient, chatty, and radiant as always) and then they were there: the Henrietta Farmers’ Market. Small town rural at its finest. Gansey was immediately in love with all of it but Ronan would not let him stop at any of the stalls; he finally had to resort to grabbing Gansey by his firm, well-toned forearm (rowing team for the win!) and pulling him through the early morning crowds. “You can shop later,” Ronan said, “first we meet Adam.”

Gansey sighed. “I don’t understand why you’re so keen on me meeting him,” he said.

 _I’m not_ is what Ronan thought but what he said was, “ _Ley Line_ Teas, remember? It’s not a coincidence. He might know something. And we’re out of tea.”

“Oh! Yes, you’re right. We _need_ more tea.” The intensity in Gansey’s voice was matched by the determined glint in his eye and Ronan felt a shiver of nerves. _What the hell was Gansey’s deal with the tea?_

Further pondering was put abruptly on hold by the brilliant light of the sun rising over the Blue Ridge Mountains. Oh, wait, that was just Adam Parrish. For Ronan, the long awaited sight of the Tea Boy was akin to all the glorious sunrises he had witnessed; it was like stumbling upon the perfect arrangement of notes that fell into song, it was like flying in a dream, it was…unprecedented.

Adam was turned away from them, in deep discussion with a small, _intriguing_  looking girl whose short hair was arranged in a manner that was baffling to Ronan. He felt a prickle of unease, and the first beads of sweat rolling down his back. Only the thoroughly unamused look on the girl’s face kept Ronan from sliding into full “oh god does he like her, does she like him” anxiety mode. Adam was gesturing with his hands ( _his beautiful hands_ ) and saying something about a free market and monopolies and healthy competition. As he bent over to retrieve a box from beneath the table his shirt slid up and Ronan saw, for the briefest instance, a fading bruise on his lower back. Ronan’s heart lurched and then stuttered because Adam had straightened and turned and _was looking at him_.

 _Fuck_.

“Ronan!” Adam’s voice was clear and bright and happy. Ronan’s heart took flight and abandoned his chest cavity.

“Hi!” Ronan shouted and then coughed to try and recover some modicum of nonchalance. “…hey…”

Ronan was standing in front of Adam, only a table separating them but he felt Adam’s brilliant, perfect smile like the blast of heat from an oven. Adam reached across the table and grabbed his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “It’s great to see you,” he said.

Ronan did not know how to think. Adam’s cool, dry fingers were pressing into his skin and _God bless_ did he just trace his fingers over Ronan’s tattoo? Ronan shivered.

Adam laughed a little, care free and light. “I meant to tell you last week but I really like your ink! Not everyone can pull off that type of look. It suits you.”

Thankfully Gansey inserted himself into the moment because Ronan was about to implode or get down on one knee and propose. Or both.

“Doesn’t it just?” Gansey said brightly. He was looking back and forth between Adam and Ronan with avid interest. “It really brings out the danger in his eyes. And it goes well with black.”

Adam stared into Ronan’s eyes, as if confirming that there was danger in them, before Ronan had to look away. He picked up a tin of _Raven’s Hollow_ (lapsang souchong tea, dried blackberry, cloves, sage) and pretended to read about the natural herbs harvested in the mountains. Gansey introduced himself with his usual aplomb and began praising Adam’s tea blends. Ronan’s ears were burning, turning pink as he tried to suppress his feelings. He hadn’t imagined Adam’s fingers caressing his skin, or his genuine delight at seeing him but now…it was happening just like Ronan had feared: Gansey and Adam were bonding. They were jumping topics almost faster than Ronan could follow: tea, herbs, mountain ecology, mountain lore, and then Gansey was broaching the BIG topic—ley lines.

There was a definite spark between them, an appreciation for finding someone else who was happy to obsess over common interests, and it looked like Gansey and Adam had many shared interests. And they looked good together. It hurt, seeing them laughing and talking, totally engrossed in their conversation. What if it was supposed to be Adam and Gansey, not him? What if he was just the friend who introduced his best friend to his secret crush and then they got together and ran off into the sunset and had deep conversations and drank tea? It would suck. So bad.

Ronan was hardcore brooding and amassing a stack of interesting teas (okay, all of the teas) when he heard a loud “Ahem!” coming from the table next to Adam’s. It was the small, spiky haired girl.

“If you want to know about ley lines,” she said, “you should ask a psychic.”

Ronan made a skeptical noise and the girl, and Adam, turned and gave him disapproving looks. He felt immediately chastised and defensive.

“Excuse you,” the girl growled. “My mother happens to be a psychic. Actually, my entire household possesses the gift.”

“And you are?” Gansey asked politely. He was looking at the girl like she was a fascinating discovery. He was probably distracted by her interpretation of a dress: an extra large vintage band T-shirt that had been altered in a style that was best described as avant-garde.

“Blue Sargent,” Blue declared. Her expression dared them to say anything about her name. But Gansey couldn’t help himself.

“Is that a nickname?” he asked.

“Is _your_ name a nickname?” she challenged. Her hair was bristling and Ronan admired her attitude, and her ability to make Gansey look awkward.

“Apologies,” Gansey muttered. “Are you selling tea as well?”

“Yes, though unlike Adam, I don’t make the tea. My mother does.”

Gansey went to look at her teas and ask her more about psychics and ley lines. Adam looked at them for a moment, a fond smile tugging at his thin lips. He turned back to Ronan and gave him a _look_ , like they were sharing some kind of private joke. Ronan didn’t understand it; there were so many puzzling things about Adam Parrish that he did not understand.

“A word of caution,” Adam whispered, making Ronan lean in to hear him, “don’t buy any of her teas. I know that probably makes me sound petty but really, they’re more medicinal than flavorful.”

Ronan nodded. “You don’t need to worry about me, though Gansey will probably buy all of the tea just to make up for accidentally insulting your friend.”

“He seems like a good guy,” Adam observed.

“Gansey’s the best,” Ronan agreed quietly. He happened to glance at Adam’s face and saw that Adam’s brow was furrowed and he was staring at Ronan with a question in his eyes. “I mean,” Ronan clarified, “he’s the best, like a brother. After my dad…died…I moved in with Gansey and we’ve been roommates ever since.”

“I’m sorry,” Adam said gently, “to hear that your father is dead.”

The words hit Ronan like a surprise punch to the ribs but he shook it off and nodded. He didn’t want to talk about Niall Lynch right then, that was a subject too heavy for sunny Saturday markets and tea and second meetings.

“Tell me about this tea,” Ronan said, and handed Adam a tin of _Appalachian Fog_. This time he didn’t flinch when Adam’s fingertips brushed against his.

Hours later Gansey and Ronan returned to Monmouth, each of them carrying a box of tea. Ronan had purchased one of each of Adam’s teas and Gansey had done the same with the teas that Blue sold. They arranged the tea tins (from Adam) and mason jars (from Blue) on the floor because there was no room in the kitchen/bathroom.

“We need some shelves,” Gansey mused, tilting his head to examine the wall, as if the shelves would magically appear.

“I can probably get something together,” Ronan offered. He wasn’t thinking about shelves. He was thinking about the way Adam’s soft Henrietta accent sounded when he said his name, about the way Adam found his eyes and held his gaze, about his fingers touching his tattoo.

“This fell out of your bag,” Gansey said, handing Ronan a slip of paper. Ronan unfolded the textured cardstock that Adam used for his labels and there it was, like the X marking treasure on a map: ten digits and the words _call me_ in Adam’s elegant handwriting.

_…to be continued…_


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronan gives Adam a call and learns some shocking things about the mysterious Tea Boy...

Ronan stared at Adam’s number in disbelief. He showed it to Gansey.

“Whoa! Nice job, Lynch. Scoring digits already, can I expect a happy announcement soon?” Gansey teased.

Ronan groaned, pressing his hands over his face. “Shut up, Gansey,” he hissed. “Jesus, don’t you understand? This is terrible.”

Gansey looked confused. “I don’t understand,” he said, hands on his hips, head cocked to one side, staring at Ronan like he was the world’s greatest enigma.

“I can’t call him,” Ronan said. He sank to the floor and glared at the piece of paper.

Gansey knelt down next to him and put a comforting hand on Ronan’s shoulder. Ronan knocked his hand away.

“I know you hate phones,” Gansey started, “but sometimes you just have to overcome these…obstacles…and go for it.”

Ronan said nothing. He picked at the leather bands on his wrist and scowled.

“If you don’t call him he’s going to think that he read you wrong and that you don’t like him,” Gansey explained. “Do you want him to think that? Do you want to make him suffer all week long while you agonize over dialing a number on your cell phone?”

“Quit patronizing me,” Ronan spat. He jumped to his feet and stormed off to his room. Gansey knew better than to follow him. Ronan slammed the door to his room and threw himself on his bed. He pulled the pillows over his head, scrunched his eyes closed, and tried to _think_. If he had to talk to Adam on the phone what the fuck was he going to say? What could he say in as few words as possible without totally screwing things up with Adam?

Ronan kicked his feet against his mattress. He thought about what Declan would do, because Declan got digits like no one else. No, that was the wrong approach. Declan could be superficially charming, flirty, easy, saying whatever you wanted to hear because he was a liar. Gansey was the only person Ronan had occasion to communicate with via phone, and that was only when Gansey needed Ronan to come pick him up when the Pig broke down on some godforsaken stretch of road. Necessity. That’s all this was. He was calling Adam out of necessity and if he couldn’t be honest about that then he was no better than Declan.

Ronan rolled off the bed and began hunting for his phone. Minutes later he found it, under a pile of jeans, still plugged into the wall charger. With trembling hands he added Adam to his meager contacts list and then, after saying a quick prayer to whoever might be listening, he called him.

The phone rang, the strangely musical dial tone made Ronan panic. He paced around his room, wiping his clammy hands on his jeans. Even though his room was cool and air-conditioned he was starting to sweat, his pulse accelerating because _holy shit_ he was calling _Adam_. What a world this was. Two rings later and Adam answered.

“Hello?” It was Adam’s voice, low and cautious, the Henrietta twang coming through loud and clear. Ronan did not think he could handle it but—

“Adam?” Ronan said, relieved that his voice sounded normal. “This is Ronan Lynch.” _Jesus god what the fuck was even happening?!_

“Ronan! Hey! I’m really glad you called me.”

Ronan bit down on his lip and gave the sky a victorious fist bump. _Adam was glad that he called!_

“Yeah, umm, me too. I mean, I’m glad you uh wanted me to call…” He was losing it. Two seconds into the call and he was becoming the horrible mumbling version of himself that only existed when a cell phone was involved.

Adam laughed. It sounded quiet, relieved, not like he was mocking Ronan. “Yeah?” Adam said. He sounded a little shy, his voice a little deeper. The sound of his voice made Ronan want to throw himself out the window, but in a good way. “That’s good,” Adam continued, “because I would love to talk to you, get to know you.”

Ronan had the window open in a moment and was precariously perched on the windowsill. He felt like he could fly, like he was already flying. He wanted to pause time and replay Adam’s words over and over and over. No, screw that, he wanted to see Adam, face to face, and hear him say those words in person.

“Where are you?” Ronan asked. The words came out abrupt and harsh.

“What?” Adam sounded confused. “I’m at home? I mean, my apartment. Why…?”

“I hate phones,” Ronan confessed. His heart was pounding, he was about two seconds away from doing something drastic. “Can I…can I come talk to you? In person? I know it’s weird but…”

Adam cut him off, “No, I understand!” He was laughing again. _That laugh_. _God_. “You can come over. I’m just working on my blends so if you don’t mind that…”

“I don’t mind.” Ronan climbed back into his room and was balanced on the balls of his feet, bouncing up and down with nerves.

“Okay. I’m going to tell you where I live but just,” Adam paused and there was a small sigh, “look, don’t freak out, alright?”

“I won’t,” Ronan promised. He didn’t understand why the location of Adam’s apartment would be cause to freak out. This was Henrietta. Ronan knew the town well and couldn’t think of a place that would be worthy of freaking out.

“St. Agnes,” Adam said.

“Excuse me?”

“That’s where I live.”

“Bullshit.”

“I assure you, no bullshit,” Adam’s tone was even and Ronan _knew_ it was true even though he couldn’t believe it was possible. Ronan glared at the ceiling in silent communication with the higher power. It felt like a cosmic joke, but one that was surprisingly benign.

“I’m on my way,” Ronan said and hung up. He shoved his phone in his pocket and then he was out the door, running by a startled Gansey and a smirking Noah, then down the stairs and through the weedy lot. St. Agnes was close enough that he didn’t bother with the BMW (and he also didn’t trust himself to drive). The summer heat was oppressive as always but Ronan hardly noticed it as he ran, booted feet pounding on the asphalt, his breath coming in gasps. Ronan Lynch Running did not fit into the Cool Untouchable Ronan Lynch Aesthetic but he was damned if he cared. Adam Parrish was turning his world upside down and he didn’t care if he lost all of his chill, he was running to see him.

Many agonizing minutes later, Ronan stood outside St. Agnes, panting and drenched in sweat, his face bright pink with exertion. As Ronan struggled to catch his breath he decided that running here had been a bad idea. He could have arrived as Ronan Lynch, inscrutable, driving a sexy black BMW. Instead he was Ronan Lynch, sweaty, pink son of an Irishman. He was still wheezing when he heard Adam call down to him.

“Did you run here?”

Ronan looked up and up to the open window that Adam was leaning out of. His poor abused heart tried to redouble its frantic pace as Ronan drank in the sight of Adam Parrish gazing down at him. He almost forgot to speak. And breathe.

“Yes,” Ronan gasped. “I ran.”

“I hate to tell you this,” Adam said, “but my apartment doesn’t have AC.”

“That’s okay,” Ronan said. He would gladly suffer anything, even hot attic apartments, just to be around Adam. Though he really wished he smelled better.

“Come on up,” Adam called and disappeared from the window.

Ronan hauled himself up the rickety external staircase. Adam opened the door for him and Ronan almost turned away because it was too much, too fast. Adam Parrish, barefoot, wearing ragged jeans with holes and a faded blue T-shirt with a stretched out neck which revealed the elegant lines of his collarbones. Adam Parrish, smiling at him, his blue eyes sparkling… Ronan felt like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi. His. Life. Flashed. Before. His. Eyes. He forced himself to blink.

“Welcome to my place,” Adam said. He stepped back and ushered Ronan inside. The apartment was all one room: tiny and crowded but surprisingly clean and well organized. The bed was a twin mattress in the corner of the room, neatly made up and covered with camo fleece blanket. The walls were mostly bare, except for the wall behind the long plastic table; it was papered in charts and lists and pictures of herbs, teas, and flowers. The table was covered with jars and tins, measuring spoons, a scale, stacks of labels. The air smelled strongly of growing things, the source of which was a tiered indoor herb garden that was sheltered beneath one of the attic windows.

Ronan moved carefully, trying not to knock over anything. Adam left the door open to let air circulate through the room, but the ceiling fan and open windows did little to fight off the stifling heat.

“I’m sorry it’s so hot,” Adam said, squeezing by Ronan. Their arms brushed and Ronan felt a pleasant jolt rush through him. “I’ve almost got enough saved up for a window unit. I can live with the heat but it’s not the best environment for storing herbs and tea.”

Ronan nodded, still taking in the room. He noticed a minifridge under the table. Stacks of cardboard boxes lined one of the walls, the name of a tea company plastered on them.

“This is pretty impressive,” Ronan said. “I can’t believe you have your own place and your own business already. You’re only how old?”

Adam scuffed his feet on the grey carpet and grinned bashfully. “I’ll be turning 17 soon,” he said.

“I didn’t know teens could live on their own like this,” Ronan said.

Adam wandered over to the table and propped himself up against it. He tilted his head back and gave Ronan a _look_ that made him feel lightheaded.

“I’m an emancipated teen,” Adam said carefully. “It’s a fairly recent development. I’ve only been living here since the end of the school year in May. That’s when I was able to get this tea business really going, before that I was only able to do online sales. Now I can make my own herbal blends here and sell at the market.”

Ronan nodded his head, trying to wrap his mind around why Adam might have needed to emancipate himself. He remembered the bruise he had seen on Adam’s back, the scars on his hands.

“I can’t believe you live here,” Ronan murmured. “You know me and my brothers go to church here? And I never even knew someone was living up in this place…”

Adam laughed, whatever amused him was private and Ronan quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Sorry, sorry,” Adam said, grinning, “it’s just…I feel like I have you at a disadvantage because I already knew that. Just like I know that you come to the church at night.”

“How…?” Ronan felt _distinctly_ that he was at a disadvantage.

“I can’t sleep,” Adam explained. “I told you that the first time we met. And your brother told me you have insomnia, which I already knew because I’ve seen you sneaking into the sanctuary at all hours. God, you used to scare me to death! When I first moved in I heard you one night, playing piano in the church and I was sure that I was being haunted. I’m not religious, right? I thought it was a supernatural thing so I snuck down to the sanctuary and there you were, playing music in the dark. It was…lovely.” Adam’s eyes closed and he tilted his head to the side, almost as if he could hear the song that Ronan had been playing. Ronan couldn’t look away. He felt wrapped up, pulled in, ensnared by this beautiful, mysterious boy.

Ronan leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, his hands squeezing his elbows. He held onto himself so he wouldn’t rush across the small space separating him and Adam and do something he might regret.

“I’m not that great with piano,” Ronan said, trying to find the right words, “my dad taught me mostly how to play Irish instruments. Maybe I could play for you sometime?”

“I’d like that,” Adam replied. He looked perfectly at ease, while Ronan felt on terribly on edge. They stared at each other, the moment drawing out like the dying notes of a song. Finally Adam spoke again. “I still need to make some more blends, unfortunately. I have another job, at Boyd’s auto shop, and my shift starts at six. I’d like it if you could stay and hang out and talk to me.”

“Yeah, okay,” Ronan agreed.

“Alright, well, make yourself at home. You can sit on my bed if you want? The only other option is the floor, I’m afraid.” Adam opened the fridge and pulled out a plastic pitcher and grabbed two mason jars from the makeshift shelves on the wall. “Here,” he handed Ronan one of the jars, “sweet mint tea.”

“Thanks,” Ronan said. He took the tea and perched at the edge of Adam’s bed. _Adam’s bed_. He tried not to have a heart attack. He sipped the tea and watched as Adam selected different tins and jars and started measuring out their contents. Adam explained what tea he was making, and talked about herb lore, folk remedies, the best places to harvest wild herbs in the mountains. Ronan drank his tea and listened, occasionally asking questions or adding commentary. It was nice.

All too soon the time passed and Adam cursed softly when he realized that he needed to leave to get to Boyd’s. Ronan stood and watched as Adam dashed around, cleaning up his table, getting ready for his next job, grabbing the things he would need. Then Adam was hurrying them out the door and they were standing at the bottom of the stairs and Ronan didn’t know what to say or do. He wanted to follow Adam to his next job, watch him take apart cars and fix them, hear his thoughts and explanations on the mechanics of automobiles. Anything to stay with this boy.

“Thank you for coming over,” Adam said. “And for calling me, especially when you hate phones.”

Ronan grinned and scrubbed his hand against the back of his head. He wanted to reach out and run his fingers through Adam’s light brown hair, to pull him in. _Too soon, Lynch_. Instead he lightly nudged the wheel of Adam’s bike and said, “I liked being with you.” And held his breath because s _hitshitshitshit…._

“Good! Great! That’s ah, really good,” Adam said. He reached over and grabbed Ronan’s wrist and squeezed. They were both beaming like newborn suns. “Okay! I have to go, now, really. But, can I text you?” Adam asked.

“Yeah, yes,” Ronan said. “Just don’t expect um a lot. I really do hate phones, no lie.”

“Got it! So, yeah, I’ll text you,” Adam said, nodding emphatically and giving Ronan’s wrist one last squeeze before climbing onto his bike and riding off with a final wave.

Ronan sat down on the steps and watched Adam go, pedaling fast to make it to his job on time. He felt buoyant, unreal, like he did when he returned from a dream. But Adam wasn’t a dream. Adam was impossibly, wonderfully _real_. For the first time since he had found his father’s body, Ronan felt truly happy to be alive.

_…to be continued…_


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Concentrating during church is a struggle when the person you like lives next door! Declan makes his entrance! Drama ensues!

Sitting still during Mass was going to drive him crazy. Ronan chewed on the leather bands tied around his wrist until Declan reached over and pinched his arm, hard, to get him to stop. Ronan glared at Declan and Declan glared back; Matthew sat between them, serene and apparently oblivious to the brotherly discord. Keeping his hands out of view of the other congregants, Ronan extended his middle fingers at Declan before turning away and slumping farther down in the pew.

The ritual and order of the service did not distract Ronan from the one thing that was paramount in his thoughts: that Adam Parrish was only yards away, puttering around in his apartment, while Ronan was trapped in the cool, ornate sanctuary. It was maddening, especially after Ronan had spent another sleepless night thinking, and trying not to think, about Adam. His insomnia was partially due to his increased consumption of tea. Ever since he had returned to Monmouth yesterday evening Ronan had been brewing all the teas and drinking them, pot after pot. (Noah had made several rude and hilarious comments about Ronan’s new favorite place, the kitchen/bathroom because if he wasn’t in there making tea he was in there using the facilities because Tea). Naturally Ronan had been drinking all the caffeinated blends so he was overly jittery and anxious, his brain frantically skipping from thought to thought. What was Adam doing right now? Was he sleeping? Was he thinking about Ronan? He needed to know.

Ronan’s leg was jigging up and down again. He tried to stop it but then the other leg started. Declan made a vague grumble/sigh noise that expressed his extreme disapproval. Matthew patted Ronan’s knee and then started fidgeting, too. Ronan tried to calm down. He took deep breaths and counted backwards from ten. He closed his eyes and thought of forests: endless avenues of oak trees, clear pools of water, cairns of stones marking the way through trackless wilderness, a small girl with dainty hooves darting around the trunks of the trees searching for something…

An elbow jab to the ribs brought Ronan back to wakefulness. The congregation was standing to sing. Ronan stumbled to his feet, his equilibrium thrown by his too brief dreaming. He had been looking for something in the dream forest, the girl leading him to it but now he couldn’t remember what it was. Ronan braced both hands on the pew in front of him and hung his head, feeling queasy and disoriented; he wasn’t supposed to dream in a place like this, it was too dangerous. Matthew placed a comforting hand on Ronan’s shoulder and peered at him with uncharacteristic seriousness. “I’m fine,” Ronan mumbled. Matthew patted him a few times before turning to watch the altar boys exit the sanctuary.

As soon as the service was over the Lynch brothers made their way to the exit. Matthew stopped to talk to a few of the old ladies; Ronan recognized one of them as the lady who made and sold potholders at the market. Declan immediately had his phone in hand and was calling someone, probably a girl. While his brothers were distracted Ronan snuck around the church to the stairs that led to Adam’s apartment. The church bells were chiming out the hour and Ronan imagined that the noise must be enormous up in the apartment, he wondered how Adam could stand it. He turned the corner and there he was: Adam Parrish, looking like the light at the end of a tunnel.

Adam was sitting on the bottom of the steps, a glass of tea at his side, his bare feet tracing patterns in the dirt. Ronan took a moment to study his feet, partly to give himself a moment to recover. Adam’s feet were almost as tan as his arms and this, to Ronan, seemed impossible. Weren’t all boys’ feet supposed to be several shades lighter than the rest of their body? This got Ronan speculating about tan lines and wondering where Adam’s tan lines were, if he had any, but he quickly shut down that line of thought before he embarrassed himself. Still, Adam’s feet…he liked them. ( _God,_ was there any part of Adam he _wouldn’t_ like? Probably not).

Ronan finally looked up and met Adam’s bright, knowing gaze. Any chill he thought he had evaporated in an instant. Adam smiled and ran his hand through his already tousled hair, making it stick up in adorable tufts. _Oh, God._

“Hey,” Ronan said. He was pleased that his voice came out sounding cool and not breathless. Score one for him.

“Hey,” Adam answered, still grinning impishly. Ronan didn’t want to read anything into it, but he was pretty sure that Adam was checking him out because the top to bottom, bottom to top body scan that Adam’s eyes were currently engaged in was INTENSE.

“I see you’re all dressed up,” Adam commented. He reached out and tugged at the hem of Ronan’s black T-shirt.

Ronan was flustered. “Um, yeah. Declan says I need to wear something with sleeves to Mass.”

Adam let go of the shirt and briefly touched Ronan’s hip before pulling away. Ronan jumped at the unexpected contact and blushed. _Shit, no chill_. Adam pretended not to notice and took a drink from his glass of tea. The condensation on the glass collected around Adam’s fingers and slid down their long, elegant lines. Ronan watched a bead of water as it moved along Adam’s finger, across the back of his hand to his wrist before falling down, down to the dusty earth. Adam set the glass back on the stairs and gestured towards Ronan.

“Hey, could you turn around for a moment?” Adam asked.

Ronan wanted to ask why but he couldn’t speak so he just shrugged and turned. He could feel Adam’s eyes on him and it made his skin prickle. He was sweating again.

“Hmm,” Adam said. “Your tattoo still shows.”

Ronan turned back around and leaned against the railing of the stairs. He was so close to Adam that he could hardly stand it.

“The tattoo wasn’t meant to be hidden,” Ronan said. “Declan makes me wear sleeved shirts because he says no one wants to see my armpit hair in church.”

Ronan felt a brief moment of anxiety because did he _really_ just tell Adam Parrish about his _armpit hair_? Then Adam laughed and Ronan felt like he had won a prize somehow.

“Armpit hair? Really?” Adam snorted.

Ronan shrugged again and grinned. “Hey, I don’t make the rules. And I don’t usually follow them either but I don’t want to scandalize the old ladies.”

“Yes, please keep your armpit hair under control, Mr. Lynch. Those of us with weak hearts can’t withstand the sight.”

Now Ronan was laughing and he wasn’t sure why exactly because this was one of the more ridiculous conversations he had ever had (the exceptions being his late, late night discussions with Noah about, well, anything). Adam was laughing too and damn if amused wasn’t a really good look for him.

“Enough about my hair,” Ronan finally managed to say. He reached over and, mirroring Adam’s earlier gesture, plucked at the sleeve of Adam’s shirt. The fabric was warm and soft. The shirt looked ancient, like it had been worn and washed hundreds of times to the point that the material was almost sheer, the original red dye faded almost to pink, the logo still legible despite the small holes and tears. Touching the shirt, _nearly_ touching Adam, felt like a dare. It made him giddy. His hand trembled. Adam was looking at him with that question in his eyes and Ronan had to look away.

“You a big fan of Coca-Cola?” Ronan asked. _Stupid. Stupidstupidstupid. Who the fuck even cared about Coca-Cola—???_

 

Adam looked down at his shirt as if he had forgotten what he was wearing.

“Not especially,” Adam said. “This has always been my knock-around shirt so it gets worn a lot.” He held the shirt out away from his body and examined it; Ronan examined it too, especially the places where holes in the fabric revealed swatches of skin. Adam released the shirt and it settled back against his chest. He frowned slightly. “You don’t think it’s too ratty, do you?”

“What?” Ronan was shocked that his opinion was being solicited for something as personal as wardrobe choices. “No, hell no,” Ronan said. “It, uh, looks very comfortable.”

“Hmm,” Adam hummed and then drank some more tea. He held out the glass to Ronan. “Thirsty?” he asked.

Ronan nodded; speechless because the devious smirk on Adam’s face meant that he was talking about more than just tea and _fuck, yes_ Ronan was thirsty on _so_ many levels. He accepted the glass, fingers slipping against Adam’s, trying not to shake and drop the glass. He brought the glass up to his lips and ( _why the hell not?_ ) placed his mouth over the faint marks of Adam’s lips on the rim of the glass. And then he looked at Adam, held his gaze as he swallowed down a mouthful of tea. Adam blushed but didn’t look away, though his eyes did drift down, like he was staring at Ronan’s throat. Ronan swallowed again and felt very pleased to see Adam swallow too.

“Oh my God, there you are! For fuck’s sake, Ronan—”

Ronan choked on the tea and nearly dropped the glass. Adam was on his feet in an instant, slapping Ronan’s back while Ronan gasped. Ronan coughed a couple more times before facing Declan.

Declan was standing there looking pissy, his arms crossed over his chest, legs apart and feet braced. It was some bullshit macho angry father figure stance and it made Ronan furious. So furious that he couldn’t speak.

“Are you coming or what?” Declan demanded. “Matthew and I have been _waiting_. We’re meeting Natalie for lunch today, remember?”

Ronan wanted to yell at Declan but Adam was there and Adam…Adam was looking distinctly unsettled by the shouting. He wasn’t cringing or anything obvious but he seemed to be making himself _smaller_ , less noticeable in the face of Declan’s anger.

Ronan prayed for patience before answering. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“You don’t have a minute,” Declan said. “We’re already late.”

“I. Need. A. Minute,” Ronan repeated, each word hard and precise. He glared at Declan, hoping that his brother would be too concerned with appearances to actually try and start something in front of Adam.

“Fine,” Declan muttered. He turned and stalked away. “But I’m timing you,” he shouted.

Ronan watched him go, his blood simmering with unspent animosity. “ _Jesus Christ_ ,” he hissed.

Adam placed a hand on Ronan’s shoulder and Ronan turned to look at him. Adam looked a little pale. “Was that your brother?” Adam asked. His voice was quiet, uncertain.

“Yeah,” Ronan sighed. “That’s Declan. He thinks that ever since our dad was killed that he gets to be the boss of me. He’s just this—” Ronan stopped. Adam didn’t need to hear the poisonous words he wanted to say. Already he was worried that Adam might be judging him, drawing away from him and his internalized violence.

Adam’s grip on Ronan’s shoulder tightened. “I’m sorry I got you into trouble,” he said.

“Don’t apologize,” Ronan said. “Declan’s just an asshole. And I’m not in trouble.” He smiled for Adam and Adam returned his smile, though it didn’t look very cheerful.

“Listen…” Ronan started, “…I have to go but can I come back later? To hang out? I drank like an ocean of tea last night and I was going to give you my feedback.”

“Oh!” Adam perked up. “Yes! I’m not going anywhere today. Just blending tea and studying.”

_Studying?_

“Okay, good, that’s uh, yeah,” Ronan mumbled. Adam was still holding his shoulder and Ronan didn’t know if he should hug Adam? Go for a high five? A fist bump? Jesus, he wanted to do _other_ things but _too soon, too soon_. He could hear Declan yelling from the church parking lot. He had to go. He had to do something…

Ronan grabbed Adam’s hand and squeezed it, once, before pulling away and dashing around the church. With each step he took he felt the hard pounding of his heart, he felt the dizzying waves of endorphins racing through him with abandon because _He held Adam’s hand!_ He knew his face must be beet red but he didn’t care. He dived into the backseat of Declan’s car, careening into Matthew who laughed delightedly and pulled him into a headlock. Declan was shouting again and telling them to buckle up. Ronan’s heart felt too large for his chest, his feelings too expansive for his body. _He held Adam’s hand!_

… _to be continued_ …


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The awkward/adorable lovefest is rudely interrupted by Kavinsky. Cue massive angst. Trigger warning: panic attack

It was inevitable that Ronan’s good mood would not survive two minutes in the presence of Declan. By the time they reached the small Italian restaurant (the only one in Henrietta) Ronan’s triumphant high had evaporated and he was back to his usual, surly self. He ignored Declan’s lecture on punctuality and proper dress but it was becoming difficult to reign in his temper. In desperation Ronan sent Gansey a brief text begging him to come to lunch and act as a buffer between him and Declan. (Ronan was only attending lunch because Matthew had asked and it was almost impossible to refuse the younger Lynch brother).

The restaurant was what some would describe as quaint: cozy tables with candles in the middle, red check table clothes, Italian music played at a subdued volume, soft lighting, and the pervasive aroma of good food. Natalie, Declan’s latest fling, was waiting for them on the bench in the foyer. Ronan thought she didn’t look like the usual model that Declan went for, she was too small and narrow, her hair was dark brown and short, she wore all black, she had multiple ear piercings. Definitely not the Declan brand. Ronan gave her a brief nod and then pretended she wasn’t there. He scanned the restaurant but didn’t recognize any of the diners. He shifted from foot to foot anxiously waiting for Gansey to arrive and save him from a fate worse than death: watching Declan and _Natalie_ flirt their way through appetizers, salad, entrees, and dessert. Ugh.

Gansey showed up just as the waitress came to take their drink orders. He and Ronan performed a fist bump greeting and then Gansey turned on his Charm and began chatting up Declan and Natalie. Matthew was busy pouring salt and pepper on the table and drawing designs in the mess. Ronan drew something inappropriate which earned him a reprimand from Declan _and_ Gansey. He brushed out the scribble with a self-satisfied smirk. Sometimes they were just too easy to annoy. Ronan further irritated Declan by ordering sausage and avocado pizza instead of the more refined entrees that others were having (except for Matthew who changed his order at the last minute and got two sides of mozzarella cheese sticks).

While Natalie, Gansey, and Declan picked at their Caesar salads Ronan and Matthew folded up the paper wrapping from their straws into small projectiles and flicked them at each other while no one was paying attention. One of Ronan’s “accidentally” hit Declan on the chin, causing his brother to slam down his fork and glare at Ronan.

“Ronan,” Declan said, his voice full of warning, “tell me, who was that boy you were talking to after church?”

Ronan pretended not to hear. He didn’t want to discuss Adam with Declan.

“Probably Adam Parrish,” Matthew volunteered. Ronan scowled at him and tried to melt his straw in the candle flame until Gansey stopped him.

“Adam’s great,” Gansey said. “He’s a local entrepreneur. He makes organic tea, if you can believe it.”

Ronan groaned in exasperation and muttered obscenities in Latin that Gansey blithely ignored.

“Is that so?” Declan asked. He was staring directly at Ronan, his gaze unamused and calculating. It was a look that promised hell if Ronan didn’t cooperate. “He certainly seemed like a _unique_ person.”

This was all the encouragement that Gansey needed. To Ronan’s horror Gansey began expounding, in extreme detail, about how wonderful Adam’s teas were and how Adam was the smartest, most charming, and most interesting guy in Henrietta, maybe even all of Virginia.

“Present company excluded, of course,” Declan commented with a wry twist of his mouth. Gansey shrugged. “If you like him so much, Gansey, why don’t you ask him out?” Declan asked.

Gansey’s mouth hung open for a moment before he laughed. It sounded awkward. Ronan imagined stabbing Declan’s hand with a fork, over and over and over. “Uh, well, you know—” Gansey didn’t get a chance to finish his statement because Ronan kicked him. He didn’t want Declan to know about Adam Parrish and he definitely did _not_ want his elder brother to know that he was interested in Adam Parrish. Declan had a way of ruining everything in Ronan’s life and he would be damned if he let him take Adam away, too.

Thankfully their food arrived and Declan was too busy eating and talking to Natalie to worry about the enigmatic tenant of St. Agnes. Natalie, to her credit, kept Gansey and Declan entertained with her stories about college life at the art institute she attended in Washington. Gansey seemed impressed that Declan was already dating a college girl; Ronan had uncharitable and unfounded thoughts on the issue; Matthew was happy to smile at them and eat the never ending bread sticks.

Somehow Ronan survived the meal (mostly by fantasizing about what it would be like to take Adam here on a date, as unlikely as the scenario was). He kept kicking Gansey until Gansey _finally_ excused himself, claiming prior obligations, and offered to drive Ronan back to Monmouth. Declan and Natalie looked relieved as they told them goodbye. Matthew looked a little forlorn until Declan reminded him that they were going to order tiramisu for dessert.

Ronan burst out of the doors of the restaurant and into the bright, hot afternoon. He squinted against the glare of the sun reflecting off the windshield of the Pig and…the windows of a glossy white Evo with a knife painted on the side. Joseph Kavinsky was leaning against the Evo, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Ronan sucked in a breath, feeling like someone had stabbed him repeatedly between his ribs. “Oh shit,” muttered Gansey, his expression stony with disapproval. Ronan said nothing but followed Gansey to the car.

Kavinsky tracked Ronan’s movements like a predator stalking its prey. His eyes, as ever, were hidden by the sunglasses he habitually wore. He was dressed in a loose white wife beater, a gold chain hanging around his neck; his jeans were slung low on his hips revealing the top of his black briefs. Everything about Kavinsky sent a thrum of warning through Ronan. He wanted to run the other way but instead he kept going, walking to the passenger door of the Pig, even though it would bring him face to face with Kavinsky.

Ronan tried to edge around him in the small space between the two cars but Kavinsky wouldn’t budge. Instead he hooked his fingers in the belt loop of Ronan’s jeans and pulled him in until their knees bumped together and only inches separated their bodies. Ronan swallowed, his heart kicking and surging from the proximity. It had been ages since he and Kavinsky had been this close.

“Lynch,” Kavinsky said, his voice a hoarse whisper in Ronan’s ear. His breath smelled of cigarettes and was warm against Ronan’s face. Ronan couldn’t repress the shiver that shook through him, or the way the hairs on his arms stood on end. He felt charged and terrified. “You’ve been ignoring me,” Kavinsky whispered. “I don’t like it.”

Kavinsky yanked on Ronan’s jeans again, making him stumble against him. Ronan attempted to pull away but Kavinsky locked his feet behind Ronan’s and then pinched him on the side, hard enough to bruise. “Why don’t you answer my calls?” Kavinsky asked.

“Fuck off,” Ronan growled. It didn’t sound as tough as he wanted it to, probably because his body was betraying him. Ronan wanted to get away from Kavinsky, and stay far away, but his body was remembering what it was like to be in Kavinsky’s arms, how it felt to let this disaster of a human being have control. “I told you,” Ronan said, “I don’t want to be with you.”

“I don’t believe you,” Kavinsky replied. He nuzzled the side of Ronan’s neck and Ronan gasped. He felt trapped and panicked all over again. He didn’t want to be like this, he didn’t want to feel this way. He closed his eyes and thought _Adam_.

It was like a magic spell that granted him autonomy of his body. Ronan shoved Kavinsky, knocking his glasses askew, and then he dove into the Pig, not even bothering with the door, but falling in through the open window. It was undignified and Gansey gave a cry of surprise as Ronan landed almost in his lap. Kavinsky was laughing at him. It was a sharp, cruel sound that sliced through Ronan, making him shake.

“Ronan, are you alright? What did he say—” Gansey asked, reaching out as if he would touch Ronan.

Ronan flinched away and slunk down into the seat. “Just drive,” he said. He couldn’t even work up any emotion for the words. Ronan gripped his hands and stared at them, willing them to stop trembling. He felt like he was freezing cold despite the soaring summer heat. And he was sweating. He thought he might be on the verge of a panic attack so he squeezed his eyes shut and focused on his breathing, on the rumble of the Pig, on the feel of the wind ripping through the open windows, on the smell of mint as Gansey furiously chewed on a new leaf.

The Pig jerked and heaved as Gansey drove it like he stole it, powering through the gears. They slid into the gravel lot outside Monmouth, the car fishtailing and sending up a wave of grit. Gansey slammed the car into park and Ronan felt a sympathetic twinge on behalf of the old automobile. It didn’t deserve to suffer just because he was.

In seconds Gansey was out of the car and opening Ronan’s door. He squatted there, looking worried and rumpled. Ronan didn’t think he could move—it felt like all of his energy had been zapped by his run-in with Kavinsky. He hated it; he hated that K could still make him feel things. He hated the guilt and the shame and the regret and the goddamned fucking _want_ that crawled through his gut every time he saw Kavinsky, even if all he saw was his name on the missed call log or in his phone’s inbox. He felt tainted.

“Ronan,” Gansey implored, “what can I do? What do you need?” His expression was confused and sorrowful. He didn’t know, Ronan didn’t want him to, but at the same time he _knew_ and that made it all worse.

“I feel sick,” Ronan said, finally. “So, if you could move out of the way—” Gansey had only just shifted to the side when Ronan leaned out of the Pig and threw up.

—

Ronan woke up in his bed. There was a glass of water next to the bed and next to the glass of water was Noah. Noah was watching Ronan with that peculiar, unbreakable focus he had. It was uncanny how he never seemed to blink.

Judging by the light and shadows in the room Ronan decided that it must be early evening. His stomach fell sore from throwing up and his throat was raw from bile; his mouth tasted foul. Ronan sat up and retrieved the glass of water and drained it in one long swallow. It hit his empty stomach and made him feel instantly ravenous but the thought of eating was repulsive.

Ronan finally acknowledged Noah. “What happened?” he asked. His head was pounding.

“Apparently you threw up, Gansey helped you inside, then you locked yourself in your room and drank whatever alcohol you had stashed in here, and you passed out,” Noah summarized.

“Oh.” Ronan didn’t remember any of it. “How did you get in?”

“I have my ways,” Noah said. Ronan nodded. He was just glad that it was Noah, not Gansey, at his side. Gansey would demand answers; Noah was content to let him be.

“Adam’s been calling,” Noah said. He held up Ronan’s phone. The call log showed two missed calls from Adam and one received.

“I didn’t answer that, did I?” Ronan asked. He couldn’t imagine what he would have said to Adam while he was black out drunk.

“I answered,” Noah explained. “I told him you were sick and in bed. He offered to come by and check on you once you were awake. Should I call him back?”

Ronan lay down on the bed and thought about it. His room was a wreck. _He_ was a wreck. He didn’t want Adam to see him like this but…he _wanted_ to see Adam.

“Fine, whatever,” Ronan mumbled. He closed his eyes and listened to Noah’s calm voice as he talked to Adam. He tried to sort through his emotions and figure out why he had reacted so strongly to seeing K. Ever since he had ended things he had been good about keeping his distance: no touching, only talking through the open windows of their cars as they traded insults before taking off in an illicit street race. He thought he was over it, that it was all in the past. He had been wrong.

Adam showed up about ten minutes after Noah called. Ronan considered getting out of bed but his head was spinning too badly and he thought he might throw up again if he moved. He felt a million years away from the stupid, cocky guy he had been this morning, flirting with Adam and holding his hand.

Adam cautiously entered the room. He was still wearing his Coca-Cola T-shirt and ripped jeans. He carried a battered looking wooden case that reminded Ronan of a tackle box. Noah followed Adam, bringing the electric kettle which he plugged in before leaving the room and shutting the door behind him. Adam stood next to Ronan’s bed and gave him a quick, clinical once over that was worlds away from how he had examined Ronan outside the church.

“So,” Adam said, “what ails you?”

“I didn’t know you made house calls,” Ronan answered. He tried to go for a smile but it fell flat.

“Only for guys I like,” Adam replied with a grin. “Now, what’s going on?”

“I…,” Ronan started and paused to huff a quick breath, “I had a bit of a panic attack earlier and I decided to self-medicate with—” Ronan motioned to the empty bottles on his floor. “So now on top of an upset stomach I have a hangover.”

“Okay,” Adam said. He set his wooden box on the floor and popped open the brass locks on the top. Ronan watched with interest as the simple box unfolded to reveal rows of bottles and tins, a small mixing bowl, and other implements.

“Whoa,” Ronan said.

“Yep,” Adam agreed. “This is an old apothecary’s case. I found it at the flea market and I use it for on demand tea blending.”

“Does that happen a lot?” Ronan asked. “On demand tea blending?”

“Nope,” Adam said. He started pulling various tins out of the box and lining them up next to the mixing bowl. Then he carefully measured out small portions of herbs and flowers into the bowl before mixing them together.

“This is my signature hangover tea,” Adam explained. “It’s actually one of my more popular blends.” He turned the kettle on and measured a teaspoon of the blend and put it in a ball riddled with holes, which he set in Ronan’s “Kiss Me I’m an Asshole” mug. “This mug is pretty awesome,” Adam said.

“It was my dad’s,” Ronan murmured.

“Then your dad must have been quite a guy.”

“He was,” Ronan said. “I miss him every day, especially on days like this.”

Adam nodded thoughtfully and poured the boiling water into the mug. While the tea steeped Adam put the remaining loose tea into a tin, labeled it, and set it aside. He replaced the tins he had used earlier and started pulling out new ones.

“What are you doing?” Ronan asked.

“The hangover tea will only remedy your immediate problem,” Adam said. “I’m working on something that will help calm your anxiety and worries, something that might help prevent future panic attacks.”

Ronan was skeptical. Sure, Adam’s tea was good, and yes, tea could be used to treat certain illnesses. But Ronan’s anxiety was mental, not physical. Would tea really help?

“Here,” Adam passed Ronan the mug of steaming tea. It had a sweet fragrance. “Blow on it to cool it off before drinking.”

Ronan did. He took a sip and swallowed the tea. “This actually tastes good,” he said.

Adam snorted a brief laugh. “Not all medicine has to taste bad. Drink it slowly and give it time to work.”

Ronan did as he was told. He watched Adam skillfully blend a new tea, admired the way his clever fingers selected each ingredient and measured and mixed. This was a different side to Adam Parrish. Yes, he had seen Adam make tea before, but then they had been busy chatting and joking. Right now Adam was all business, focused and serious. Ronan was suddenly aware of the fact that _Adam Parrish_ was practically nursing him back to health, _in his bedroom_. He flushed as he briefly imagined Adam wearing a nurse outfit, but he killed that fantasy by imagining him in hospital scrubs which were just about the least sexy clothing in the world. Ronan decided to concentrate on finishing his tea; he was already feeling better.

“Alright, this should do it,” Adam said. He handed Ronan a tin with a label on top that read _for anxiety_. “Just make yourself a cup of tea whenever you feel anxious or panicked, no more than two cups a day as you don’t want it to lose its impact. I wrote the ingredients down here.” Adam handed him a slip of paper that was covered in his distinctive handwriting.

“Thank you,” Ronan said. He reached out and took Adam’s hand in his, holding it gently like a glass flower. Adam laced his fingers with Ronan’s. And Ronan, despite the shocks of the day, felt a thrill pass through him at the reciprocated contact. _This was what he wanted_.

“Will you tell me, sometime?” Adam quietly asked.

“Yeah,” Ronan nodded. “I want to but…it’s a long story, and I haven’t told anyone, not even Gansey. Can you wait?”

“Of course,” Adam said. His smile was perfect and sweet and Ronan felt himself falling, and he didn’t mind.

_…to be continued…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a prequel to this story I am writing about Ronan's past relationship with Kavinsky. I'll start posting it on AO3 soon, right now it's on my tumblr and it's called Something to Hurt You.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like a chat with your crush to make you feel on top of the world...just don't fall out the window.

“…and so then I held his hand and he did that thing where he put his fingers through mine—” Ronan said before Gansey interrupted with a quiet, “Lacing. He laced his fingers with yours.”

“Right. So, what do you think it means?” Ronan asked. He was sitting on the floor next to the model Henrietta, Noah sprawled out beside him, and Gansey kneeling on Main Street, gluing a porch to the general store.

“He likes you,” Gansey said, at the same time that Noah offered, “He wants to bang.”

Ronan spit out the mouthful of tea that he had been about to swallow, spewing the already battered public library. Gansey choked audibly and they both shot Noah startled looks.

“What the hell, Noah?!” Ronan exclaimed. He looked at Gansey who was blushing almost as much as Ronan.

“Dude, _lacing fingers_ is like, the _sign_ of two people having sexy times,” Noah said. He laced his fingers together in demonstration and held them above his head.

“In what universe?” Ronan demanded.

“It happens all the time in anime!” Noah countered.

“Since when do you watch anime?” Gansey asked. “I’ve never seen you watching anything, let alone anime.”

“I had a life before I met you guys,” Noah muttered and rolled over onto his stomach.

“Okay…” Gansey said. “Moving on. Ignoring Noah’s speculations, I am 100% convinced that Adam Parrish likes you. _He fancies you_.” Gansey said the last bit in a posh British accent that made Noah snicker.

“Well, that’s great,” Ronan grumbled. “I _fancy_ him, too, but what am I supposed to do now? Should I call him? Should I wait for him to call me? Can I just show up at his doorstep?” Ronan stood up and started pacing. He still felt a little under the weather after his panic attack and hangover from the day before but Adam’s tea had been working its magic and he was recovering faster than he had the last time he had fallen off the wagon.

“It’s too bad you don’t have an older brother with extensive dating experience,” Gansey lamented.

“Oh, yes, Declan would be a great help,” Ronan said sarcastically, “if I only wanted to get in Adam’s pants.”

“Are you saying you _don’t_ want to get in his pants?” Noah grinned up at him, tracking his feverish pacing. “Because the way you look at him…I’m surprised he’s not pregnant.” Noah’s expression was downright lascivious.

“Quit looking at me like that,” Ronan snapped. Noah often appeared as if he knew more about Ronan than Ronan did and it was frustrating as hell. “And stop talking about Adam’s pants. Jesus Christ.”

“Why don’t you invite him over for dinner?” Noah suggested. The tame idea indicated that he was trying to make up for his improper (and accurate) guesses regarding Adam and his pants. “The last time he was here he barely saw the place and spent all of his time in your room, nursing you back to health. If you want more than a few good nights with him then he’ll need to get to know me and Gansey; I am not about to let you become one of those guys who ditches his friends when he starts dating!”

“That’s actually a good idea,” Gansey said. He gave Noah an approving nod and then scanned the apartment. “Do you think we’ll need to clean up for this?”

Ronan was still pacing, analyzing the scenario for any flaws. This could work. A group dinner wasn’t a _date_ date. It would be informal, fun. Integrating Adam into their group was something that Ronan hadn’t considered before but now that he thought about it he couldn’t stop. It was odd; Ronan was the type to hoard his friends. He got jealous. But Adam was too special to keep to himself, Gansey and Noah should know him, and Adam should know them. Already he could feel how Adam would round out their group, making it stronger, better.

“Ronan…Ronan…earth to Lynch, come in please,” Noah was calling from the floor. Ronan snapped out of his reverie and turned to him.

“What?” Ronan asked.

“Gansey wants to know if we should clean.”

“Oh…” Ronan looked over the apartment. “I don’t think so?”

Gansey straighten his glasses and stood up. He was wearing khaki shorts and a white polo shirt covered in tiny navy blue sailboats. He surveyed the room like a captain taking in the deck of his ship. Ronan smirked openly. Gansey was exceedingly proud of Monmouth’s many charms, some of which included a burgeoning spider population and a fine coating of dust, for that repurposed warehouse aesthetic.

“I may tidy up a bit,” Gansey said. “What do you think for dinner? Nino’s?”

Ronan shrugged. He thought about the gaunt, hungry look of Adam, how his skin clung too tightly to his bones, and the hollows in his cheeks. He wondered when Adam had last eaten a good meal. Herbal tea was all well and good but you couldn’t live by tea alone.

“Okay, Nino’s it is,” Gansey said, interpreting Ronan’s silence as acceptance. “I’m also going to get some cupcakes from the bakery. You know, so we can have tea and cake after.”

Noah and Ronan exchanged a _look_. Gansey was going full on British schoolboy about this dinner.

“Don’t you think crumpets would be better?” Ronan asked.

Gansey thought about it. “Where would you find crumpets in Henrietta?”

Ronan rolled his eyes. “Never mind, man. I’m gonna go talk to Adam and see when he can come over.”

Gansey started telling Noah a story about the last time he had eaten crumpets (in England, with his friend Roger Malory) and Ronan wandered into the kitchen for a cup of tea. He had chilled a pot of chocolate tea and it was the perfect antidote to his post-meltdown lethargy.

Ronan returned to his room and trudged through the piles of clothes, unpacked boxes, and random clutter. He pulled the window open and perched on the sill, looking out at the abandoned lot and the cracked street. The summer heat made the asphalt shimmer and the horizon hazy and blue. Ronan took a fortifying drink of tea before retrieving his phone. He glared at the screen; the wallpaper was black and cleared of almost all apps. (Ronan hated all phones, even smart phones. Gansey often quipped that Ronan had somehow managed to turn a smart phone into a dumb phone by not using if for anything, even talking). Ronan thumbed through his list of contacts (currently stalled at five guys, two of whom were related to Ronan) and tapped on Adam’s name. He listened to the phone ring, his heart beating fast.

“I was wondering when you would call.” Adam’s voice sounded _good_. Ronan wanted to record it and listen to it over and over when he couldn’t sleep at night. It was warm, slow, wonderfully accented. Adam yawned and Ronan almost gasped because _holy shit_ even his yawn was cute! This guy could not be real.

“Did I wake you up?” Ronan asked.

“Nah, I was studying but the heat makes me sleepy,” Adam yawned again. Ronan could just picture him: face flushed by the hot attic air, damp hair clinging to his forehead, eyes tired and heavy lidded…

“What are you studying?” Ronan asked. “I thought you were on summer break.”

“I am. Next term is going to be really difficult so I wanted to get a head start on some of the subjects. Latin is going to be the death of me.”

 _Latin_? Ronan had no idea that they taught Latin in public school. He also had no idea that public school was in any way academically rigorous. According to his late father, the all-knowing Niall Lynch, public school in America was a joke, a cruel joke inflicted on the masses.

“Um, I’m actually really good at Latin,” Ronan said. He hoped it didn’t sound like he was bragging but it was the truth. Years of classical education and an affinity for a dead language made Ronan Lynch the top of the class in Latin, two years running.

“Handsome _and_ smart,” Adam replied with a teasing laugh. “How did I get so lucky?”

Ronan’s heart was trying to escape by jumping up his esophagus. He coughed, hard, and had to tighten his hold on the window ledge to keep from falling out of the window. In the back of his mind he heard Noah’s voice _He wants to bang_.

“Don’t die on me, Lynch,” Adam said as Ronan tried to stop coughing. “Jesus, you’re easy to bother.” Ronan squeezed his eyes shut. _Lucky. Easy. Bother_. Damn that Adam Parrish! Ronan wasn’t sure if he would survive any more phone flirting.

“Sorry,” Ronan croaked. “I’m good. Ah, you were saying…Latin. And I was thinking I could help you study? Sometime? If you want?” Ronan was suddenly sweating again. Adam wasn’t even near him and he was so nervous he was sweating. _Damn._

 

“Yeah, we could do that,” Adam agreed. “You can teach me all the dirty jokes. I know that you know them.”

Ronan flushed. “Well…I might know a couple,” he admitted. He actually knew enough to fill a small Moleskin journal. He may or may not own a small Moleskin journal filled with dirty Latin jokes.

“Excellent,” Adam said. “So how are you feeling? Or is this just a social call?”

“I’m better,” Ronan replied. “Thank you again for coming over yesterday. The tea is helping and…it was really good to see you.” Ronan squeezed the window ledge between his thighs and wondered when, if ever, he would get used to saying such stunningly _awkward_ things.

“Good,” Adam sounded pleased. Was he smiling? Was he as keyed up as Ronan? Was his heart pounding like a freaking drum solo?

“I was wondering…” Ronan paused to gather his courage. “Would you want to come over sometime for pizza? Noah and Gansey want to get to know you better.” _I want to get to know you better_.

“Wow, yeah, okay, yes,” Adam’s words came out in an excited jumble. “Yes. Let’s see, I have evening shifts tonight and tomorrow but Wednesday looks good. Or Thursday. Friday I’m going to be blending tea for the market…”

“Wednesday’s great!” Ronan broke in. “Do you want to come over around seven? We’re having pizza. Do you like pizza? Because we can get something else…”

“No! I mean, yes, I like pizza.” Adam chuckled. “Who doesn’t like pizza? And I like pretty much anything except for anchovies and pineapple as toppings.”

“Thank God,” Ronan muttered. “If you said you liked either of those I might have to break up with you.” _Wait…shit! Fuck! Did he just say—_

 

“Oh? Break up with me? I didn’t know we were dating, Mr. Lynch.” The humor and sass in Adam’s voice was like a jolt of pure energy. Ronan fell, thankfully inside his room and not over the edge. He hit the floor with a loud smash and groaned.

“Ronan! Ronan?” Adam sounded panicked.

“I’m okay,” Ronan said weakly. “I just got lightheaded and fell.” His face was burning with embarrassment. He was supposed to be this super cool badass but Adam Parrish had cracked that façade and there was no going back. Ronan got up and limped to his bed and curled up on the mattress.

“So…could you say that I make you weak? That you fell for me? That I go to you head?” Adam’s voice was pitched low and it was unbearably sexy.

“Yes,” Ronan groaned. “You could say that. But stop or otherwise I’m going to be forced to make a house call.”

Adam laughed. “Damn, if I didn’t have to go to work…”

“Mhmm,” Ronan hummed. “I’ll see you on Wednesday?”

“It’s a date,” Adam agreed. “Until then, drink some tea and think of me.”

The call ended and Ronan lay in shocked silence for a long time. His brain felt fuzzed, incapable of thinking anything except _Date_.

He was still lying in a near comatose state when his phone buzzed. Ronan grumbled to himself and pulled the phone in front of his face. He had a text. From Adam. Before he could over think it, Ronan tapped on the message and discovered it was a _picture_ message. A selfie in fact. A gorgeous selfie of Adam leaning over the engine of an old truck, a smudge of black grease on his cheek, a perfect smile on his face (those teeth…), and, like the crowning jewel, Adam was winking. At him. Ronan stared and stared at the picture. With trembling fingers he tapped the phone a couple times and saved it as his new wallpaper. Adam Parrish was revolutionizing Ronan’s feelings about cell phones.

_…to be continued…_


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date night! Will Ronan's heart survive?? ;)

Time was behaving irrationally. That was the only explanation that Ronan had for how it was already almost 7pm on Wednesday. The last 48 hours had been a blur. Gansey had forced him and Noah to clean around Monmouth, wash the windows, and organize Gansey’s books, all of it completely unnecessary. Then there had been the endless planning. Should there be flowers? Candles? A table? (Sure, maybe, no). What would they wear? Gansey was driving Ronan insane with his questions and unwanted advice. Noah wasn’t much better, slinking around with that smug look on his face like he was guarding the secret to Ronan’s happiness in his pasty skull.

But now it was finally time. Gansey had spread out a picnic blanket on the floor and arranged the meal and the decorations to his taste. There was a vase of wild flowers plucked from the side of the road, tall saint candles purchased from St. Agnes, real plates and cups (who would wash them? Ronan wondered), an enormous avocado and sausage pizza from Nino’s, and half a dozen artfully decorated cupcakes from the bakery. Ronan wiped his sweaty palms on his dark wash jeans and fidgeted with the neck of his very distressed black muscle tee. Gansey was puttering around wearing his best navy blue polo with crisp khaki shorts and his disastrous boat shoes. Noah, as usual, wore his Aglionby uniform. Everything was ready; well, everything except for Ronan’s state of mind. He was _not_ ready. He didn’t know if he would ever be ready to welcome Adam into his life because _shit_ he was already in too deep and it had only been a little over a week and what if Adam wasn’t that interested, what if this was supposed to be casual and not _God I’m going to die because of these feelings_? Ronan braced his hands over the door and bent his head against it. He took a deep breath. He was over thinking it. It would be okay. Everything was going to be okay. He took another deep breath, exhaled…

_Knock, knock_

Ronan choked on his own breath. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he gasped. It was seven. Adam was here. _Adam was here!_  

Ronan pulled himself together, tried to look composed, and opened the door.

Adam Parrish was standing at the top of the stairs looking so goddamn perfect that Ronan almost closed the door in his face. He was wearing a fucking button up, the short sleeves showing off his toned arms, the light blue plaid matching his gorgeous eyes. Ronan couldn’t get over it. This was what you wore on a date! Adam was wearing date clothes! Adam was perfection personified!

“Were you waiting by the door?” Adam asked. He was smiling but he looked a little nervous.

Ronan thought about denying it but he never lied. “Yes,” Ronan said. Then he blushed and looked over Adam’s shoulder like there was something more interesting than the boy standing in front of him.

“Well,” Adam said. His smile stretched across his face and he was blushing, too. Ronan felt like he had won something.

“I brought some tea,” Adam said. He extended his arms towards Ronan and it was then that Ronan registered that Adam was holding a large glass pitcher filled with tea and ice and… _mint leaves_.

“Oh shit,” Ronan said quietly.

“What?” Adam asked. His posture had instantly gone rigid, his smile gone.

Ronan traced his finger through the condensation on the pitcher and exhaled softly. “Gansey has some pretty weird reactions whenever he drinks your mint tea.”

Adam looked puzzled. “Weird like how?”

“I can’t say,” Ronan mumbled. “It’s too fucking awkward.”

“IS THAT ADAM?!” Gansey yelled. He didn’t need to yell, he wasn’t that far away.

“Should I leave the tea outside?” Adam whispered urgently.

“No, it’s fine,” Ronan whispered back. “Just, be prepared. For Gansey acting like…well, you’ll see.”

Adam nodded seriously and stepped inside. His arm brushed against Ronan’s and Ronan had to resist the urge to grab Adam’s arm, press him against the door, and kiss him. _God, he couldn’t stop thinking about kissing Adam._ Instead Ronan bit the inside of his cheek and led Adam into Monmouth.

“Whoa,” Adam’s voice seemed to echo in the cavernous room. He was looking up at the high ceilings, then the wide windows that looked out onto sprawling Henrietta. “You can see St. Agnes from here,” Adam whispered.

Ronan nodded, not admitting to the hours he had spent staring at the church’s familiar architecture, dreaming about the boy who had taken sanctuary there.

“C’mon,” Ronan said. He pulled at the edge of Adam’s shirt, leading him farther into the room. Adam’s gaze drifted down to the picnic blanket and the meal presented with signature Gansey aesthetic. Adam let out a soft gasp and leaned against Ronan.

“You did this for me?” he asked quietly.

Ronan was blushing all the way to the tips of his ears. “Gansey’s the genius behind the presentation,” he explained. Adam leaned into him harder, making Ronan brace a hand against Adam’s lower back to keep them steady.

“I think I might swoon,” Adam said. Ronan looked down. Adam’s face was so close to his, his lips were so close…Ronan thought that he was the one in danger of swooning.

“Oh my God, is that mint tea?!” Gansey was leaning out of the kitchen/bathroom. He was beaming at Adam like he was the second coming of the Messiah.

“Ah, um, yes?” Adam said. He looked completely thrown by Gansey’s sudden appearance. He glanced at Ronan, then Gansey, as if asking for some guidance.

Ronan kept his hand on Adam’s back, trying to be supportive. He brushed his palm up Adam’s spine and down, delighting in the way Adam shivered at his touch. “I’m cutting you off after two cups,” Ronan told Gansey, his voice stern.

“But…” Gansey started, already looking deprived.

Thankfully Noah took this moment to make his appearance, popping out of his room looking like his usual, smudgy self. “You don’t want to ruin Ronan’s date night,” Noah said, gently nudging Gansey in the side.

Adam still looked confused but he let Noah take the pitcher of tea from him. He pressed closer to Ronan. Ronan felt so happy that he thought he might die.

Gansey followed Noah over and shook Adam’s hand, all formal. Ronan was briefly worried that Gansey might try to give Adam one of those “if you break my son’s heart I’ll kill you” speeches but he didn’t. Instead he smiled with his trademark Gansey charm and welcomed Adam to Monmouth.

“I hope you like Nino’s,” Gansey said as they all settled down on the picnic blanket. Noah poured them glasses of tea and quietly advised Gansey not to drink it on an empty stomach. Gansey ignored him.

Adam took two slices of pizza. “Their pizza is really good,” he said. “I actually used to work there a while back.”

Somehow Ronan was not surprised. Adam was the hardest working person he knew.

“Why did you stop working there?” Noah asked.

“You don’t make much money working as a server,” Adam explained. “Even with tips I was barely pulling in minimum wage and there was no way I could live off that, not on my own like I wanted.”

Gansey nodded like he totally understood about minimum wage or the need to support himself. But he didn’t. Ronan felt the disparity between Adam’s situation and theirs. Gansey, Ronan, and Noah lived in that elite class that would never have to work if they didn’t want to. The difference didn’t sit well with him but he didn’t know of anything he could do about it.

“Well, I’m glad you’re not sick of their pizza,” Gansey said. “We practically live off of it.” Most of them did, except Noah, who never seemed hungry.

Adam took a large bite of pizza, the cheese stretching from the slice to his mouth in a way that was absolutely tantalizing to Ronan. Adam bit through the cheese and chewed. There was a dab of pizza sauce on his chin. Impulsively, Ronan leaned over and wiped it off with his thumb and then put his thumb in his mouth to suck the sauce off. Adam watched him with riveted attention, forgetting to swallow.

“Jesus, Ronan,” Noah complained. “We’re at the dinner table. _Behave_.”

Ronan grinned at Adam and Adam finally swallowed, before taking a huge gulp of tea. Gansey looked amused but thankfully kept quiet, though Ronan noticed that Gansey had already drank a cup of tea and his face was becoming flushed. _Jesus_.

“What was the best and worst part about working at Nino’s?” Ronan asked, trying to divert attention away from Gansey.

Adam didn’t even need to think about it; he answered immediately. “The best was working with Blue, the worst was having to deal with Joseph Kavinsky.”

No one said a word. Ronan stared at his empty plate but he didn’t see it. He thought _Kavinsky._ He thought _Kavinsky and Adam_. In no world did he ever want Kavinsky anywhere near Adam Parrish. Thinking about it made him want to do something violent and drastic.

“Blue?” Gansey was saying, the words seemed to come from far away. “Is that the small, angry girl I met at the market?”

Adam chuckled. “Yeah, Blue Sargent. Don’t ever call her small if you value your manhood.”

“How did we not know she worked at Nino’s?” Gansey wondered.

Adam shrugged. “She usually avoids waiting on Raven Boys if she can help it.”

“Raven Boys?” Noah asked.

“Students at Aglionby Academy,” Adam explained. “She thinks y’all are all assholes.”

“She’s not wrong,” Ronan muttered darkly. He was still thinking about Kavinsky.

Adam placed a hand on Ronan’s knee. “I don’t think you’re an asshole,” he said. He was grinning but his eyes were serious.

“Well, you haven’t know me for very long,” Ronan replied. Already he could feel his good mood evaporating. He hated that even now, surrounded by his friends and sitting next to Adam, Kavinsky seeped in like a bad dream, ruining him.

“Hey, you don’t think you could get Blue’s number for me?” Gansey asked. Ronan shot him a _look_. Using Adam as a go between was _not_ the purpose of this dinner. And Ronan certainly wasn’t ready to add a fifth member to the group, especially not someone who was Gansey girlfriend material.

“I could,” said Adam, slowly. His Henrietta accent drew out his vowels, making his reticence sound poetic. “But you should ask her yourself. Blue is particular about things like that. I tried a similar tactic once and it did not go over well.”

“You wanted Blue’s number?” Gansey’s tone was confused and a little jealous. Ronan’s mood was totally jealous, and wary.

Adam blushed. “We dated for a couple weeks,” he confessed. Ronan had no idea what to do with _that_ information. _Goddammit this date was supposed to be…not like this_.

“So you’re like bi?” Noah asked. He was lying on his side, propped up on his elbow.

“Noah!” Gansey exclaimed. “You can’t just ask people to tell you their sexual orientation!”

“Hey, I’m trying to look out of Ronan here,” Noah said. Adam looked from Gansey to Noah to Ronan.

Ronan stood up. He felt unbalanced. There wasn’t enough air in the room. Adam stood too, his hand was coming up as if he would grab Ronan’s arm but he stopped just shy of contact, waiting for permission. Ronan wanted some space to work through his thoughts but he couldn’t leave Adam here; it would look too much like rejection and he wasn’t rejecting Adam, he was just confused. Ronan took Adam’s hand and pulled him away from the others, to his room.

He hadn’t straightened up his room since Adam had been in it on Sunday. Boxes and clothes were strewn about haphazardly. Ronan made his way through the piles to the window and pushed it open. He sat on the sill and looked at Adam, he wanted to give him some reassurance but his face was as honest as his words. He knew he looked miserable and he knew there was nothing he could do about it.

Adam came and stood in front of him. His hands were in the pockets of his jeans. They were nice jeans, Ronan idly noticed, no holes or stains. Adam really had dressed to impress.

“What did I do wrong?” Adam asked. His voice was so soft that Ronan almost couldn’t hear him. “Are you mad because I didn’t say that I like girls, too?”

Ronan sighed and leaned back on the sill, his hands anchoring him. “I’m not mad at you, Adam,” Ronan said. “Really, it doesn’t bother me that you like guys and girls.” He thought about that and amended his words, “Actually thinking about you liking someone else makes me jealous as fuck but that’s not it.”

Adam moved closer until their knees brushed. He placed his hands on the windowsill next to Ronan’s.

“What is it then?” he asked.

“It’s Kavinsky.” Ronan released a shuddering breath. “I can’t talk about it right now, but he…he really messed me up and even hearing his name fucks me up so bad that I can’t—” Ronan stopped and bit his lip, hard enough to draw blood. “I hate to think of him being near you, even if it’s past tense, it makes me fucking crazy. God, I’m sorry, I sound like such an asshole.” Ronan let out a bitter laugh and hung his head, unwilling to look at Adam, to have Adam see the shame on his face.

“Hey, Ronan,” Adam’s voice was low and _God_ so steady and warm. “Please look at me.”

Ronan looked up. He felt tears stinging in the corner of his eyes and he blinked them back. Adam’s expression was soft and open. Moving slowly, Adam stepped between Ronan’s legs and wrapped his arms around Ronan’s back. His hands moved aimlessly, mapping their way over Ronan’s back and shoulders. Ronan gave into the hug and returned it, pulling Adam in even closer until they were pressed together. He sighed and felt Adam’s intake of breath against his chest.

“You’re not an asshole,” Adam whispered into his ear. “All these bad things you say and think about yourself, they’re not true.”

“You don’t know,” Ronan said, the words felt broken and sharp in his mouth. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

“Maybe,” Adam admitted. “But I know you, even though we haven’t had much time together. Our story didn’t start at that market almost two weeks ago, it’s been ongoing, only we’ve just met and…” Adam stopped, his lips pressed briefly against Ronan’s neck. Ronan tensed, his arms tightening around Adam. “I’m not explaining this well,” Adam said, “but you feel it too, right? Like this is finally happening, like it was meant to be?”

“I don’t believe in fate,” Ronan responded, “but yes. I can feel it, whatever it is.” He had been feeling it since he met Adam and it scared him, as well as delighted him. In the back of his mind he thought _too good to be true_.

Ronan felt Adam’s smile, the way his lips moved on Ronan’s skin. He felt it all through his body and he wrapped one leg around the back of Adam’s knees. He wanted to be closer, to keep Adam here with him.

“We’ve both had lives before now,” Adam was saying. “You’ve got baggage, I’ve got baggage. But we can unpack it, together. We can make this work, if you want.”

“I want,” Ronan said, his voice hoarse. He didn’t know if he would cry or kiss Adam. In the end he did both.

Ronan slid his hand up Adam’s spine, cupping the back on his head in his palm. Adam’s short hair was silken and warm, the strands slipping through Ronan’s fingers. Adam made a quiet sighing sound and tipped his head back. They were almost level, the windowsill giving Ronan more height. He bent down and Adam raised up and they kissed. Adam’s lips were slightly chapped but soft, moving against Ronan’s in a way that indicated that Adam knew what he was doing. Ronan stopped thinking and focused on feeling and responding, basking in the sweet, steady way that Adam kissed, the pressure of Adam’s hands on his back and shoulders, how Adam took and gave and moved and sounded and…it was bliss. He didn’t mean to cry, really, but he couldn’t help it.

Adam pulled back, his hands cupping Ronan’s face. He was flushed; his lips looked divine, his eyes were…there weren’t words.

“Are you okay?” Adam asked, brushing the tears away with his lovely hands.

Ronan nodded once.

“Can I kiss you?”

Ronan mirrored Adam and place his hands around Adam’s face. They stared into each other’s eyes and Ronan thought _Finally_.

“You better,” Ronan said.

Impossibly, their second kiss was even better than their first.

_…to be continued…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I have now posted everything that I've written so far in this AU. I am going to try to post weekly updates on Thursday. Thanks to everyone for the comments and kudos!! XD


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gansey on mint tea! *fans self* Is anyone else uncomfortably warm??

Kissing Adam Parrish was addictive, it was more thrilling, more intoxicating than anything that Ronan had tried. And Adam kissing him back! Kissing him and touching him like it was his mission in life to discover what would make Ronan come undone. He was going to pieces, shaking as if with cold though the hot Henrietta wind was blowing against his back and Adam was anchored securely to his front. Adam—gorgeous, smart, sexy Adam—had practically jammed himself between Ronan’s thighs, his lean, strong arms embracing him tightly. Adam shifted his stance, leaning in to nip at Ronan’s ear, and the added pressure and friction made Ronan moan. _Oh god._ Ronan bit his lip in embarrassment and to keep himself under control but it was too late, Adam had noticed. _Of course he had noticed_.

“Ronan.” Adam’s voice was low, quiet. Ronan shivered. His eyes were shut, had been shut since they had started kissing, as if opening them would break the spell, end the moment. Adam’s lips pressed against his throat, above the hard racing of his pulse.

“Ronan,” Adam said again. This time he sounded teasing, amused. “Your face is all pink. Are you breathing?” Another feather-light kiss, on his chin. “If you don’t breath I might have to throw you on the floor and perform CPR.”

Ronan’s eyes snapped open and he inhaled in a rush. Adam was grinning, his face almost too close to take in all at once. Adam took a step back, dragging his hands slowly down Ronan’s back, over his sides, and down until his long, thin hands were resting above Ronan’s knees. Adam found a hole in Ronan’s jeans and poked at the bared skin, laughing when Ronan startled at his touch. He was still laughing when he buried his face in Ronan’s shoulder.

“I like you,” Adam said, breathless and happy. “I really, really like you.”

“Oh.” Ronan pressed his nose into Adam’s hair and breathed. Adam smelled like the attic apartment, a little dusty, and he smelled a bit like sweat (see: attic apartment), and like fresh herbs. It was a nice smell. Everything about Adam was so nice.

“Are you sniffing me?” Adam asked. His face was still pressed against Ronan’s shirt and Ronan hoped that, if Adam started sniffing him that he smelled…okay. He felt like a mess.

“I like the way your hair smells,” Ronan said. His voice sounded strange in his own ears. Like it was floating out of him. “I really, really like you, too,” he whispered.

Adam laughed again and kissed Ronan’s bare shoulder, on the black wingtips of his tattoo. Then he straightened up and gave Ronan an assessing look.

“You’re a very good kisser,” Adam said, “even if you do forget to breath.”

Ronan thought of several things he could say: _you’re a good kisser, too; you make me breathless; I can’t think straight when I kiss you_. He thought of the implications behind Adam’s statement. He thought of Adam’s previous assertions that even though he and Ronan had their own baggage they would work through it. Adam wasn’t playing games; he wasn’t trying to make this complicated. Ronan took a deep breath and employed his honesty.

“I like kissing you,” Ronan said, his eyes never straying from Adam’s intent gaze. “Kissing you is like…creation. It’s powerful and wonderful and new and…”

“And?” Adam asked. The blush on his face had heightened. His hands gripped Ronan’s legs.

“And it’s sexy as hell,” Ronan finished. He smiled widely at the look on Adam’s face and gave Adam’s mouth a quick peck before sliding off the windowsill. He felt unsteady, but Adam was there, in front of him, providing all the support he needed. Adam, looking rumpled, his hair tousled, his lips dark red, his blue eyes glimmering and dark. He took Ronan’s breath away. It was too good but Ronan didn’t want to question it, not when Adam was here with him, in his room… Adam was tipping towards him and there was the bed, unmade, there was the impulse and the desire and the inevitability but _not now, not yet_.

“I’m like suddenly really thirsty,” Ronan said and he was pleased at Adam’s snort of laughter. “Want to see if Gansey left any mint tea?”

Adam’s face went from heavy lidded sex god to Concerned in an instant. It was kind of amazing.

“Oh my god! The mint tea, I totally forgot! Do you think he’s okay?” Adam was already moving towards the door. Ronan followed him, curious and hesitant. _He_ knew what to expect but poor Adam had no idea.

Gansey was sprawled on the picnic blanket. The plates and pizzas and cupcakes had been haphazardly shoved to the side. The bouquet of flowers had tipped over, spilling water and blossoms across the floor. The pitcher of tea had been removed, set on an impossibly high shelf of the bookcase. Ronan noted that only half the pitcher had been drained.

Ronan also noticed that Gansey looked just as disheveled and _glowy_ as Adam did. His head was resting in Noah’s lap. Noah was leaning over him, playing with his hair, threading loose daisies and Queen Anne’s lace through Gansey’s wavy locks. Noah said something to Gansey, his voice too quiet to be understood, and Gansey laughed. He caught Noah’s hand and brought it down to his mouth, sucking two fingers between his lips. Noah smiled and gazed at Gansey fondly before turning to stare at Adam and Ronan, who had frozen in the doorway of Ronan’s room, too surprised to move. Noah motioned for them to come out.

Adam looked to Ronan, his eyebrows arched and speaking volumes. Ronan shrugged. “Gansey gets very…touchy feely when he drinks mint tea.”

“Well,” Adam said. He huffed a breath, part astonishment, part humor. “I’ve never seen or heard of this type of a reaction before. Maybe I should start putting a warning label on the tea.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Ronan said as they joined Gansey and Noah. “I think it’s only confined to repressed academics who have an obsession with mint plants.”

“That is a rather narrow demographic in my tea market,” Adam agreed.

Gansey seemed to be aware of them, even through the haze of his afterglow. He smiled lazily. Ronan was just grateful that he was no longer orally fixated on Noah’s fingers because there were some things you shouldn’t have to see your best friends doing.

“I am not obsessed with mint plants,” Gansey said, his tone was that of someone who was truly sloshed but still trying to maintain the illusion of sobriety. “I am obsessed with Owen Glendower.” Gansey sighed deeply. “My quest in life is to find him and wake him.”

Noah petted Gansey’s hair, his expression slightly sad.

“I remember you were telling me a little bit about him at the market,” Adam said politely. By “a little” he meant that Gansey had given him a mini lecture on Welsh history, ley lines, and Virginian archeology.

“Yes!” Gansey replied energetically, sitting up suddenly. He almost toppled over but Noah caught him and steadied him, his arm slung around Gansey’s waist. Ronan noticed and felt a thrum of _something_ pass between them.

“You see, Adam,” Gansey began, “Henrietta is _full_ of energy and potential! The ley line passes through here but I cannot find it. I have tried various means but it is beyond me. This is why I must speak with Blue Sargent and her psychically gifted family. They can point me towards the ley line and the line will take me to Glendower.”

“Oh,” Adam said. “I thought you just liked Blue and wanted to chat her up.”

Gansey thought about that for a moment. He leaned into Noah. Noah seemed unbothered.

“I _would_ like to get to know her,” Gansey said carefully. “I don’t have much time…I don’t, I can’t…I’m not in a position to pursue someone, romantically.”

Gansey’s expression was complicated and more open than Ronan was used to. For months Gansey had been sheltering Ronan, supporting him. In Gansey’s life there was Glendower, Ronan, Aglionby. Ronan had taken it for granted that Gansey preferred girls but he had never stopped to consider why there were never any girls around. He supposed that made him selfish.

Adam leaned his head against Ronan’s shoulder but his attention was all on Gansey.

“I think Blue would like to get to know you, too, especially if you were starting out as platonic friends. She’s…special, like you.” Adam smiled softly at the startled look on Gansey’s face. “How can I say it? You two have a similar vibe, or more like you have complementary vibes? It’s like when I’m making a new tea blend. I can sort of feel which teas and herbs are going to go well together. It’s more than creating a nice flavor or a medicinal remedy; it’s about finding the perfect balance. You and Blue have a good balance.”

“And you and Ronan?” Noah asked.

Adam smiled bashfully. He laced his fingers with Ronan’s and Ronan nearly jumped out of his skin. Noah gave Ronan a _knowing_ look, his eyes telegraphing his thoughts.

“I think we have astoundingly good balance,” Adam answered. He kissed Ronan’s cheek and squeezed his hand.

Ronan squeezed back and sighed happily.

“Good God!” Gansey exclaimed, his accent had switched to something vaguely British and very dramatic. “Lynch, your face! There is a disfigurement upon it! Do mine eyes deceive me or are you smiling?”

“Fuck off,” Ronan said cheerily. He grabbed one of the exquisite lavender cupcakes and shoved it into Gansey’s face. Gansey let out a startled yelp before retaliating, catching Adam, accidentally, in the crossfire. Soon they were all over in bits of cake and frosting and laughing so hard that tears came to their eyes.

It was late and Adam said he had to go home. Gansey and Noah walked with him and Ronan to the door, saying their goodbyes and making plans to meet up again, this time at 300 Fox Way, the home of Blue Sargent and her posse of psychics.

Ronan walked Adam back to his apartment above St. Agnes. The night air was heavy and warm and alive with the buzz of insects. Ronan smelled charcoal grills cooking, the sweet aroma of freshly cut grass, and the pervasive scent of hot asphalt. It was dark next to the church and Ronan wrapped his arms around Adam, not wanting to leave. There was a smear of frosting on Adam’s cheek and Ronan licked it off. He tasted the sweet, floral frosting and the underlying salt from Adam’s skin. It was torture, to think of leaving Adam, walking home and leaving this delectable boy so untasted…

“Adam,” Ronan said. “Adam.”

“I know,” Adam said. He rested his forehead against Ronan’s, the tips of their noses brushing.  “I know.”

Ronan wanted, so much. “I’ll dream of you,” he said. He thought _I’m going to tell you, someday, soon. I’m going to tell you about_ me.

“Yeah,” Adam whispered against his lips. They kissed one more time, slow and so lightly that it was more like tantalizing torture.

“While you dream,” Adam said, climbing the stairs to his door, “I’ll create. Something for you, only for you.”

Ronan waited until Adam was inside, the door closed. He stared up, then farther up, to the bright stars and the shimmering moon. _To dream_ he thought _is to create_. He would dream of Adam, and for Adam.

His thought of nothing but Adam as he walked back to Monmouth, floating on a natural high inspired by the dreamiest boy in Henrietta. He did not notice the headlights that followed him, did not feel the piercing gaze that tracked his steps, did not hear his name, whispered and carried by the wind, _Lynch_.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bro night! Just a bunch of dudes being bros.

“Ronan, let me ask you a question: what did you do before Adam Parrish?” 

Ronan spewed root beer all over the coffee table, eliciting shouts and complaints from the boys huddled on the couch next to him.

“I am not _doing_ Adam Parrish!” Ronan growled. His usual venom was lacking because he was still coughing up soda. Matthew patted his back and handed him some napkins to blot the soda from his jeans.

“I was not implying that you were sexually intimate with him,” Henry argued. “I can’t help it if _your_ mind is in the gutter.”

“My mind is not—” Ronan stopped. A hectic blush turned his face and ears pink, making Gansey laugh and Noah snort. “Fuck you guys,” Ronan mumbled. He got up to help Matthew mop up the root beer.

“Anyways, you didn’t answer my question,” Henry continued. “All I’ve heard since you’ve been here tonight is Adam this and Adam that. That’s called a one track mind, Mr. Lynch.”

Ronan shrugged. The truth was that before Adam his mind had been consumed with darkness: night terrors, a murdered father, fighting with Declan, missing home, the fallout from Kavinsky… Ronan had transformed from a joyful creature of light to something bitter and twisted and sharp. Only Gansey and his quest and Noah and his unquestioning loyalty kept Ronan from spiraling out of control. They had helped him retain his inner goodness.

“Ronan has been assisting me with my quest,” Gansey said, answering for Ronan and sparing him from further delving into his bad memories.

“Oh?” Henry asked. “How is Ronan contributing, exactly?”

Ronan glared at Henry. Most of the time Henry was all right but sometimes he wasn’t. Usually it was when Henry was trying to keep Gansey to himself. Ronan wanted to explain that _he_ wasn’t in the running for Gansey’s heart but why let Henry off easy? It was kind of fun to watch him get jealous.

“I translate,” Ronan answered. “It pays to be top of the class in Latin.”

Henry rolled his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair, which, as usual, was styled to perfection.

“That’s not all you’re good for, Ronan,” Gansey said. “You also help me research and accompany me on forays into the countryside.”

Noah giggled and elbowed Gansey in the ribs. “Forays into the countryside?”

Gansey looked injured. “That’s what Malory always called them,” he explained.

“Oh, I do beg your pardon, Mr. Gansey,” Noah said, in a remarkably good impersonation of Roger Malory. “Now, what were you saying about that new manuscript you found on the significance of ley lines?”

Gansey groaned and threw his head back, lying on the couch in a position of absolute defeat. “I bet Glendower was never mocked by his followers.”

It was Henry’s turn to glare at Noah and Ronan before he snuggled up closer to Gansey and began reassuring him of just how amazing he was. Ronan shook his head and left the room to throw away the sodden napkins. It was Friday night and, per Gansey’s request, Ronan was spending the evening at Litchfield house, watching South Korean action movies with Gansey, Noah, Matthew, and Henry Cheng. Gansey was determined that _all_ of his friends should also be friends with each other. Ronan was doing his best to make this work but his innate jealousy made this difficult. At the very least though there was pizza, and the movies and conversation were a good distraction.

“Ronan! You’re missing the best part!” Matthew yelled from the TV room. Ronan could here yelling in Korean, gunfire, and explosions. He wandered back in and dropped on the couch between Matthew and Noah in time to watch the hero employ his epic knife fighting skills to drop a roomful of bad guys. There was a _lot_ of blood. And screaming.

The movie continued on for another thirty minutes and more people died but the hero won in the end and saved the little girl. Ronan gnawed at the leather bands on his wrist, his attention divided between the movie and wondering if Adam liked action movies. He couldn’t imagine Adam watching movies or TV; Adam was too active and busy for that; he didn’t seem to have the luxury of pointless downtime. Which made Ronan feel even more honored that Adam was choosing to spend time with him…

“Oh my god, he’s doing it again…Ronan!” Henry voice broke into Ronan’s thoughts.

“What?” Ronan snapped.

“Henry just asked us what we were doing this weekend,” Matthew supplied.

Noah gently poked the side of Ronan’s head. “Dude, be present.”

“Sorry,” Ronan mumbled. “I’m going to help Adam at the market tomorrow. And then I think we’re going to the psychic’s house?” He looked to Gansey for clarification and Gansey nodded once.

“Yes, we will be consulting with the psychics at 300 Fox Way about the Henrietta ley lines,” Gansey explained. Noah looked a little uncomfortable and Ronan was right there with him; he was not eager to be around people who could potentially read his future. “You’re welcome to join us, if you want.”

Henry heaved a regretful sigh. “Unfortunately I can’t go. I promised my mother that I would do some research for one of her projects.” Ronan thought Henry gave him an odd look when he said that, but it was probably just his imagination.

Gansey gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Trust me, I know all about demanding mothers,” he said. He and Henry chatted about their mothers and Ronan tuned them out; mothers were a sensitive subject for him.

Matthew was messing around on his phone, ignoring Henry and Gansey. Ronan watched him. How could Matthew be so engrossed with his phone? Ronan peered over his shoulder and saw that Matthew was playing a game with cats. That was all he was doing: taking care of cats.

“What the fuck?” Ronan murmured to himself.

“Hmmm?” Matthew asked, looking up at him. Matthew Lynch was all golden curls and childlike innocence. Sometimes Ronan thought it was impossible that they could be brothers.

“What are you playing?” Ronan asked.

“Oh! This is called Neko Atsume. Look, look, these are my cats. That’s Tybalt, he’s a total gangster. He keeps the other cats in line.” Matthew went off for what seemed like forever, telling Ronan about each cat, showing him the toys and snacks he had amassed, giving him a tour of where the cats lived. Ronan was stunned.

“I had no idea you liked cats this much.”

Matthew looked wistful, his phone cupped in his hands, his hair falling into his eyes. “Well, it’s not really about cats,” he said. “It’s…I miss the Barns and all the animals. Remember when we would go out in the mornings and let the cows out into the pasture? And we would collect eggs and feed the chickens?”

Ronan did remember. He shut his eyes, trying to hold back the familiar pain he felt when he thought about the Barns.

“Declan never wants to talk about home,” Matthew whispered. “He never wants to talk about anything.”

“Forget Declan,” Ronan growled. He pulled Matthew into a headlock/hug and aggressively ruffled his hair until Matthew laughed. “Anyways, I wanted to say thank you.”

Matthew cocked his head to the side, pulling at Ronan’s arm. “For what?” he asked.

Ronan’s face flushed a little and he looked away. “For introducing me to Adam,” he mumbled. “I was wondering though, how did you know?”

“That you would like Adam?”

Ronan shrugged.

Matthew grinned. “I got really good gaydar,” he said proudly.

Ronan’s jaw dropped. “You do not!” he spluttered.

Matthew howled with laughter, enough to draw Gansey and Henry’s attention. Noah, who had been lounging listlessly between Ronan and Gansey, reached over Ronan and gave Matthew a high five and a wink. “Same,” he said. Matthew giggled.

“Seriously,” Ronan persisted. “How. Did. You. Know.”

“I just did,” Matthew said. “I get these feelings sometimes, like I’m tuned in to what you’re feeling. So I’ll see something and think ‘Ronan will like this’ or I’ll hear a song and I know you’ll love it. When I saw Adam I knew. I sensed it. He kind of lit up in my mind, all my sensors were shouting ‘Ronan magnet!!’”

“That is the weirdest thing you have ever said to me,” Ronan replied. “Do you have that same connection to Declan?”

Matthew shook his head. “It only works for you, bro.”

“Hey Matthew, where am I at on your Ronan Lynch meter?” Gansey asked. He looked way too invested in the answer. Henry was giving Ronan his death glare and Noah was beaming. Ronan felt sick. He needed a distraction _now_.

Henry’s phone started to ring and the chorus from Madonna’s “Like a Virgin” filled the room. Henry snatched up his phone, his face scrunched up in a concerned expression. Everyone instantly shut up as Henry answered.

“Slow down, please, I can’t understand what you’re saying… He’s where? What are you doing at _his_ party?! Oh for— yes, yes, I’m on my way. No, don’t do that. Just stay where you are and don’t drink anything else, understood? Right. No, I’m not mad at you. Yes, yes, I got that. Don’t. Panic. I’ll call you right back. Okay, fine, bye."

Henry put his phone down and dropped his head into his hands. Gansey and Ronan exchanged a startled look. Gansey placed his hand on Henry’s back.

“Henry, what’s happening?” he asked. “Can we help?”

Henry leaned into Gansey and raised his head; it looked like he was trying not to cry. “Some of the boys went to Kavinsky’s party. Cheng2…” he stopped, he looked physically ill. “I’m sorry, I have to go. Right now.” Henry was on his feet, heading for the door. Ronan jumped up to follow him. _Kavinsky_. His heart was hammering, dread pulsing through him.

“Henry!” Ronan called out, catching up to him at the door. “Do you want me to come with you?”

Henry was harried, distracted, but he shook his head. “No, Lynch. Thank you, but it’s better if I go alone.” Gansey, Noah, and Matthew caught up to them, hovering behind Ronan. Their massed anxiety had Ronan on edge.

“Really,” Henry said, “it will be okay.”

Gansey moved forward and placed his hands on Henry’s shoulders. “Call me, when you get things settled. Or if you need me. Okay?”

Henry nodded. His phone started ringing again. Ronan noticed that Henry’s hands were shaking as he swiped to answer the call. He waved goodbye to them and jogged to his car, his voice carrying, his tone calm and reassuring even when he was freaking out.

They watched him drive away and Ronan felt his unease spike. Something was happening. He could feel it, like the buildup to a massive summer thunderstorm. He glanced over at Gansey. Gansey’s brow was furrowed and he was chewing on his lower lip. Above them heat lightning illuminated the night sky, violent streaks of hot white fire arcing over the mountains. Something tugged inside Ronan and he clenched his hands into fists. Matthew and Noah and Gansey had drawn in closer and the four of them stood on the front steps of Litchfield House gazing at the sky, worrying.

Later, back at Monmouth, Ronan sat cross-legged on his bed, a mug of tea clasped in his hands and his phone resting next to his feet. He stared at the picture message that Adam had sent him: boxes of tea in the background and Adam’s cheerful and tired face in the foreground.  Adam had written _Hope you’re ready for some heavy lifting ;)_. Ronan hadn’t written him back. He was too anxious. It felt like the past was creeping in and Ronan was worried about what would happen when the storm arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Just wanted to say that I know there are some ominous undertones developing and I wanted to assure y’all that there is a plan! Thanks to everyone for reading and for the comments! By the way, the movie that’s vaguely referenced is “The Man From Nowhere” and it’s one of my all time favorite movies.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Market Day!! Rise and shine and get your flirt on!

Ronan was waiting on the steps leading up to the St. Agnes apartment when Adam woke up. Actually, Ronan was dozing. After leaving Litchfield House and returning to Monmouth Ronan had spent the rest of the night worrying, moving from bed to window to kitchen until finally he went outside and laid down in the backseat of the BMW. He had managed to sleep for about an hour and woke up to the first chirps of the songbirds announcing the dawn. Too nervous to eat, Ronan had driven to St. Agnes and had installed himself on Adam’s steps and waited. And waited. He had tried to keep his mind free of anxiety, concentrating instead on the few pictures that Adam had sent to him. He waited. And then he slept.

“Have you been out here all night?”

Ronan jerked awake and looked up to find Adam Parrish standing on the step above him, his lanky legs bare and…so much skin! Ronan blushed a bright red and turned away. Adam chuckled and moved down the steps to sit beside him. Ronan snuck another glance. Apparently Adam slept in short, green plaid boxers and a stretched out shirt composed mostly of holes. Ronan started mentally conjugating in Latin because the universe was testing him and he was losing.

“Here,” Adam handed Ronan a mug of tea. Ronan’s fingers were trembling as he wrapped them around the clay mug. He turned to thank Adam and Adam met him halfway, leaning in to press his lips against Ronan’s. It was brief, over and done before Ronan could even think of what to do. His heart, already overly excited about seeing Adam wearing not much at all, jolted. Ronan’s body also jolted, spilling tea over his shoes.

“Son of a—,” he exclaimed, but stopped before he could continue with his usual stream of profanity. He set the steaming mug on the step next to him and cleared his throat. “I mean, thanks for the tea.”

Adam laughed, his expression so honestly amused that it hurt to look at him. “You’re welcome. I suppose I should have said something like ‘Careful, it’s hot.’ Maybe next time.”

“Huh,” Ronan snorted. “Maybe _you_ should come with a sign or a shirt that says ‘Careful, I’m hot.’”

Adam grinned. “Was that supposed to be a comeback…or a compliment?”

Ronan scooted over until he and Adam were pressed together, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip.

“Compliment, duh,” he responded, feeling like the gods of witty banter and flirting had thoroughly abandoned him. Before Adam could say something smart Ronan kissed him, his hands on Adam’s chin, tilting his face up and to the side. Adam made a soft sound, like a sigh, as he leaned into Ronan, one hand braced on Ronan’s thigh, the other cupping the back of his head. Ronan hissed in a sharp breath, surprised, _always surprised_ , by Adam’s smooth confidence and _fuck what was he doing with his tongue?!_. Ronan shivered and slid one hand down Adam’s chest, savoring the feel of worn fabric and warm skin…he wanted to put his hands all over Adam, to finally see if this beautiful Henrietta boy had tan lines or not…

Adam grasped Ronan’s wrist before he could take his exploration any farther. Ronan leaned back, nervous, but Adam was grinning, his expression _on fire_ and mischievous. He brought Ronan’s wrist to his mouth and kissed the pale, scarred skin, his eyes locked onto Ronan’s. _Bless me Father_ ….

“Hey,” Adam’s voice was husky. “I’m loving this sexy, early morning vibe but we’ve got Market duty today.”

Ronan nodded. It was impossible to talk when Adam Parrish was biting the tip of his index finger. _Fuck,_ it was impossible to breath.

“Ronan? You with me?”

Ronan closed his eyes and nodded.

“Okay…” Adam laughed. “I’m gonna give you a moment with your tea while I go get dressed. Come on up in a minute and we can start hauling boxes to your car. That sound good?”

Ronan nodded again and listened to Adam’s retreating footsteps, then the slap of the screen door closing. He opened his eyes, grabbed the tea, and took an enormous drink. The strong, black tea had cooled to a palatable temperature and Ronan drank some more, enjoying the warmth and caffeine spreading through his system. It wasn’t doing much to help what was going on between his legs but Ronan had a feeling that _that_ problem was going to be plaguing him all day. _Adam Parrish._ That boy had a gift when it came to kissing. Or breathing. Or simply existing.

In the early morning light, sitting on Adam’s steps, his lips burning from kisses and hot tea, Ronan contemplated the changes that three weeks ( _only three!_ ) of knowing Adam had wrought in his life. For one, he had just made out with a boy while sitting right next to his church and he was feeling very good about it. Second of all, his nightmares had eased up; he only had them occasionally now, instead of every night. Maybe this was due to Adam’s _Sweet Dreams_ tea, or maybe it was due to his pronounced inability to sleep because _Adam_. And three: he was awake before the rest of the world and heading to a _Farmer’s Market_. Truly, Adam Parrish was a miracle worker.

With an exaggerated sigh Ronan hefted himself to his feet and climbed the stairs. He didn’t knock on Adam’s door, though it felt a bit odd not to, he simply walked in. Adam was bent over, his back to Ronan, straining to lift a large box. Ronan, momentarily distracted by the view, rushed over and helped him get the box onto the worktable. The flimsy plastic table teetered under the box’s weight.

“Jesus, Parrish, what the hell is in this thing?” Ronan asked.

“These are some mugs that Sister Nina made,” Adam explained, panting slightly. “She was wondering if I could sell them for her at my booth. Because what goes better with tea than a mug?”

Ronan opened the box and took out a mug. It was similar to the one he had just used: well shaped and fitting just so in the palm of his hand, with a smooth, elegant handle, and a muted, earth tone glaze. It looked functional yet classy.

“How did you get this box up here?”

“Oh, me and Sister Nina and Father Murphy carried it up.”

Ronan was surprised. “So they’re totally okay with, you know, _Ley Line_ teas and all that?”

“Why not?” Adam asked. “I don’t really know much about Catholicism but why would they disapprove of tea?”

Ronan shrugged. In his mind the church, and God, generally disapproved of most everything. He and Adam struggled to get the box downstairs and into the BMW’s trunk. Then they carted down boxes of tea, Adam’s table, two chairs, an old beach umbrella ($3 at the thrift store), and a cooler. Ronan was sweating by the time they were finished and the sun was barely over the horizon, the morning still cool and hazy with mist. Adam, other than being a little pink, looked unruffled. He had changed and his T-shirt, a loose charcoal grey number with the words _Ley Line Organic Teas_ embroidered in white thread, hung a little off his shoulder, revealing his gorgeously tanned skin. Ronan reached over and adjusted the shirt, mostly so he could touch Adam again.

“This is nice,” he murmured, brushing his palm down Adam’s side.

“Thanks,” Adam said quietly. “I had Blue do the embroidery. She made sure that I knew embroidery was not women’s work but she’s actually great at sewing.”

“Hmmm.” Ronan didn’t know how to feel about Blue Sargent. But he would be seeing her soon enough. Gansey was committed to visiting the psychics and had set up an appointment with Blue’s mother for this afternoon, just after the Market closed. And if last weekend was any indicator, Blue would probably have her booth of medicinal teas set up next to Adam’s.

Adam caught Ronan’s hand and held it, running his thumbs over Ronan’s scarred knuckles. He didn’t comment on those scars, or on the pronounced slashes on Ronan’s arms. What had Adam said; _we’ve both had lives before now_?

The bells of St. Agnes rang, prerecorded bells that tolled out the hour and half hour with hymns and songs like “Ode to Joy” or “Ave Maria.”

“That’s our cue,” Adam said, pulling Ronan to the car. Adam slid into the passenger seat as Ronan started up the BMW. Ronan felt a thrill, having Adam in his car, driving Adam. He wished that the backseat wasn’t filled with boxes, that it was night and they had nowhere to be, that they could drive as far as they wanted and find out if the backseat was roomy enough for two (Ronan thought it was).

“Um, babe, are we going to, you know, _go_ anytime soon?”

“Wha?” Ronan startled and remembered that _yes, they were going to the Market. Mind out of the backseat, Lynch_. “Did you just call me babe?”

“What? No? I said…um, Hey! I understand why you’re confused, though. It does sound like babe.”

Ronan smirked and got them on the road, steering with one hand while he poked at Adam with the other.

“My bullshit sensor is calling BS on that one, Parrish. Try again.”

“Oh my god, is that a red light?!”

Ronan slowed instinctively even though, “That light is green, quit trying to change the subject.”

Adam grinned. “It just slipped out,” he admitted. “I’m not sure if you’re a babe or a sweetie or any of those.” Adam was intensely observing Ronan, which made Ronan tense up. He had never had a pet nickname, even with Gansey he was just Ronan or Lynch. Only Kavinsky had tried to give him endearments, sarcastic and biting, names like _Princess_ and _Sleeping Beauty_. Ronan blinked and shook his head. He didn’t want Kavinsky haunting this moment.

“I think,” Adam said, “that I need more time to find a nickname that suits you. But if you want a code name I’m gonna have to go with Irish Breakfast.”

Ronan nearly wrecked the car. “ _Irish Breakfast_?!”

“Yeah, it’s perfect! Dark, strong, Irish, gets you up and going in the morning…”

“Oh my god, Adam, please stop…”

“I mean, you got _me_ up and going this morning.”

Ronan groaned and gripped the steering wheel with both hands. “Why are you so evil?” he moaned.

Adam lounged back in the seat, hands behind his head, looking ridiculously relaxed and proud of himself. “I can’t help it,” he said. “When I’m around you it’s like you flick the naughty switch in me and all the crazy comes out.”

“ _Fucking hell_ ,” Ronan muttered, sounding pained. “The ‘naughty switch’ Adam? Really? How are we supposed to be around each other all day if your naughty switch is making you fluent in innuendos?”

“It _is_ going to be hard,” Adam nodded and then winked. Ronan rolled his eyes but he couldn’t stop the amused smile from spreading over his face.

“ _Anyways_ ,” Ronan said, “what is your code name?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Adam answered. “I’m Cinnamon, you know, because I’m so spicy.”

“ _Jesus_ ,” Ronan intoned but kept his other comments to himself. It was going to be a long day.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A proposal! The arrival of the angry exs!

The Market before opening was an entirely different entity than the Market after opening. Ronan followed Adam down the closed off side street, lugging the table, chairs, and boxes. It required multiple trips and by the time they had all of their stuff in their spot Ronan’s arms were burning. He wiped the sweat off his face and surveyed the booths and vendors. Some people were already set up and were relaxing, chatting, sipping on coffee from the shop on the corner. Others were moving sluggishly, yawning and griping about hangovers and late nights. Adam moved with a purpose, though he did stop to greet some of the vendors. Ronan watched him, admiring his easy confidence and mature demeanor. Everyone treated Adam Parrish like a man, not like a sixteen-year-old kid. Hands were shaken, hugs given, exchanges made. By the time Adam returned to their spot he had a bag of apples, a box of baked goods, and a jar of honey. He laid the spoils on the table and opened the box of pastries.

“Here,” he said, handing Ronan a muffin, “I got these from Gloria. They’re her apple corn bread muffins. Also known as the best muffins ever.”

Ronan accepted the gift, smiling shyly. “I didn’t know that I was getting fed for my troubles.”

Adam snorted and plopped down into the blue and white lawn chair. “I wouldn’t be much of a boyfriend if I made you wake up early and bust your ass hauling stuff and then didn’t give you anything for your efforts.”

Ronan sat down next to Adam and bit into the muffin. He could think of some suitable payments for his services but decided to keep his comments to himself; the old lady sitting next to their booth was paying way too much attention to their conversation.

“Holy shit,” Ronan whispered, the words barely intelligible since his mouth was full. “This _is_ the best muffin of all time.”

Adam nodded enthusiastically, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk as he tried to chew half a muffin in one go.

“So, what’s this about me being your boyfriend?” Ronan asked. “Don’t you have to, you know, ask me first?”

Adam swallowed, drank some water, and grinned. “I just figured, since we were making out and stuff that we were boyfriends. But, if you want to get all official…”

Adam got out of his chair and got down on one knee next to Ronan and grabbed his hands.

“Adam!” Ronan hissed. “The fuck are you doing? That old lady is taking pictures of us!”

“Oh? That’s Ms. Torres. Don’t mind her, she’s got a gay grandson and is all the time trying to fix me up with him. But he lives in Florida so…”

“I don’t care about her gay grandson! Get up!” Ronan was blushing so bad and he wished he could melt into his lawn chair. It wasn’t enough that people had been side eyeing him all morning, now they were blatantly staring. Adam couldn’t see, his back was turned from them, but Ronan was being bombarded by attention and he was freaking out.

“Ronan Lynch,” Adam said solemnly, looking up at Ronan with a grave expression, “would you do me the honor of being my boyfriend?”

“Yes, damn it, now for the love of God, stop kneeling!” Ronan whisper-yelled.

“You have to give me a kiss first. I don’t make the rules,” Adam was smiling so hard that Ronan could see all of his perfect teeth.

“You’re very demanding,” Ronan grumbled. He glanced around, and then leaned forward and quickly pecked Adam on the lips. “I’ll give you a better kiss later. Now, on your feet.”

Adam hopped up, grinning stupidly, and shoved the rest of his muffin in his mouth, chewing loudly and exaggeratedly.

“You’re such a dork,” Ronan commented, pretending that this silly version of Adam wasn’t totally adorable.

“Mmmm Wumm Hmmm nnn,” Adam replied.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak Unmannered School Boy.”

Adam finished eating and moved closer to Ronan, bending down so that he could whisper directly in his ear. “I said, I can’t wait until you haul me behind the antique store and give me a proper kiss.”

Ronan didn’t reply. He was gripping the arms of the lawn chair for dear life and praying that he wouldn’t have a heart attack. Dying of happiness wasn’t a real thing, right? He counted backwards from ten, but the pressure in his chest was still there. Adam was still there, standing so close that Ronan could smell his deodorant.

“Adam, could you give me a little space?” Ronan finally managed to say. “My self-control isn’t at 100% right now.”

Adam chuckled, the low amused sound going straight to Ronan’s heart. But Adam did as he asked and moved away. He finished getting his booth set up: tins of tea blends, rows of blooming teas, a careful pyramid of Sister Nina’s mugs. Everything was arranged in a simple yet pleasing manner. The hand-lettered sign was propped up in front of the table, advertising Ley Line Organic Teas. Adam may have been a teen but his booth was just as legit as the ones staffed by adults. But the selling point was Adam himself, looking effortlessly handsome and wholesome. Ronan felt bad that he was probably ruining the organic teas aesthetic.

A little while later Blue Sargent came to check in with Adam. She was wearing an enormous Fleetwood Mac shirt that had been made over into a dress, her leggings appeared to be a map design, her hair was…interesting. She gave Ronan a quick, critical once over and then turned to Adam.

“What’s the delinquent doing here?” she asked.

“Delinquent?” Adam feigned ignorance.

“The tattooed guy sitting behind you.” Ronan gave Blue the finger and laughed at her disgusted glare.

“Oh, you mean my boyfriend? He’s helping me out today.”

Blue, who had been chewing gum, coughed and gagged as she accidentally swallowed it. Adam patted her back and shrugged apologetically at Ronan. Ronan waved it off; he didn’t care what Blue Sargent thought of him.

“Ack, that went down the wrong way,” Blue wheezed. “I’m sorry, but you’re dating _Ronan Lynch_?”

Adam nodded.

“Ugh, he’s a Raven Boy. Have some standards, Parrish.”

“Don’t be judgmental,” Adam said evenly. “It’s unattractive.”

“Well,” Blue huffed, “if _he’s_ your standard of beauty then I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Oh, come on, Blue,” Adam protested, “you _know_ Ronan’s hot, quit being so…so…”

“So what, Adam?”

“Bitchy,” Ronan offered. Adam and Blue both glared at him and he raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Just calling it like I see it.”

“That’s incredibly rude and sexist,” Blue replied. “Anyway, you look _fine_ , I suppose. Your personality needs some work, though.”

“Yeah and you’re a regular ray of sunshine,” Ronan quipped.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Adam intervened, standing between Ronan and Blue like a referee. “Jesus, I didn’t think I’d have to deal with my ex fighting with my boyfriend first thing in the morning.”

Blue scoffed. “We only dated for like a month, dude. And it wasn’t even properly dating. Then you moved in and…”

“Hey, look, the market’s opening. Better get back to your booth,” Adam interrupted. “Run along now!”

Blue scowled at Ronan one more time before stomping off to her booth, several tables down. Ms. Torres’ eyes were wide and she looked like she was eating up all the drama. Ronan wanted to say something to her but he didn’t want to mess up Adam’s reputation further so he kept his mouth shut.

“What am I doing here, Adam?” he asked quietly.

Adam was distracted, watching the shoppers trickle in, but he turned to Ronan and clapped his hand on his shoulder, squeezing.

“I want you here with me,” Adam said. “We hardly get to see each other and…I like being around you. I want to share everything with you, like Market Day. And other stuff.” He sighed and looked Ronan in the eyes. “I’ve still got things to tell you but I want it to be at the right time, you know? It’s just—” Adam gestured at the booth, the Market, and Ronan got it, that _yearning_ of wanting to be with the one you cared for, to have total trust and transparency.

Ronan placed his hand over Adam’s. “I get it,” he replied. Adam was still looking uneasy, maybe from Blue, maybe from something else. Ronan offered him a smile, so much softer than his habitual scowl. “Thanks for bringing me here. I’ll try to behave.”

“Oh, well, that’s very reassuring,” Adam laughed. “Do you even know how?”

“I’m a work in progress.”

Adam grinned and gave Ronan’s shoulder a final squeeze before turning away and sliding into Tea Boy Mode. It wasn’t long before customers started to arrive. Adam chatted pleasantly with his patrons, explaining the different blends and the best methods of brewing. Ronan assisted with bagging tea and mugs (they were selling surprisingly well) and restocking the table. Some of the customers seemed a bit unnerved by Ronan’s ominous presence but he kept quiet and moved slowly, which, at the very least, kept them from being scared away. No one was nosy enough to ask about him, for which Ronan was thankful, because Lord only knew what Adam would say.

Time passed faster than Ronan had expected. Adam was almost constantly helping customers and the conversations were a good distraction. By noon Ronan had memorized Adam’s pitch for every tea blend and he could recite, word for word, Adam’s mini lecture on organic tea, locally sourced herbs, and the health benefits of daily tea consumption. Ronan’s stomach was growling, reminding him that he had only eaten a muffin for breakfast. The smells of barbeque and burgers, fries and funnel cakes, were heavy in the hot afternoon air. Ronan pressed a hand against Adam’s lower back, quietly thrilled by the easy intimacy of the gesture, and excused himself to go forage for food.

“Bring me back some corn on a stick,” Adam requested, bumping his hip against Ronan’s.

Ronan wanted to kiss Adam so badly right then that he practically had to run away. He might not know everything about social etiquette, but he knew enough that PDA in front of customers was a no go. Ronan followed his nose to the food vendors, who were located at the end of the street near the coffee shop. The lines were long and the sun was burning the back of his neck, which meant that Ronan was good and surly by the time he had managed to purchase barbecue, fried potato wedges, corn on a stick, and drinks. Carrying all the food was also a challenge. Ronan was quietly cursing the sun, the heat, and his lack of sufficient arms when a hand clamped down on the back of his neck, calloused finger tips digging into his skin. Ronan froze. He knew whose hand it was. He knew, even before he smelled the cigarettes, even before he heard that unmistakable voice…

“Hey Lynch, long time no fuck.”

It was like falling all over again.

Ronan didn’t know how he was still standing, how he was still holding on to all this fucking food. Everything around him seemed to fade, pushed back to the edges. He knew that he was standing in a crowd, that he was safe, but he didn’t _feel_ safe. He felt isolated and vulnerable and he didn’t want to turn, to see, he _didn’t want this_. He struggled to breathe, felt the tightness in his chest, like a band squeezing all the oxygen from his lungs. _Shit shit shit not again…not again…_

“Ronan! There you are! Adam sent me to see what was taking you so long.”

Blue Sargent was standing in front of him, a fearsome, tiny force to be reckoned with, hands on her hips, narrowed eyes focused on the person standing behind Ronan.

“If it isn’t the wee wondergirl,” Kavinsky said. His grip on Ronan relaxed. “You and Parrish still bumping uglies behind Nino’s?”

If looks could kill Kavinsky would be DOA. Blue didn’t bother answering. She turned to Ronan, her expression flat. “Do you want some help carrying all this?” she asked.

Ronan couldn’t nod, not with Kavinsky’s hand on his neck, so he extended his arms, letting Blue take the drinks from him.

“You and Lynch know each other?” Kavinsky asked Blue. There was a sharpness to his tone that Ronan didn’t like.

“Fuck off,” Ronan growled. He twisted out of Kavinsky’s grasp and turned to face him. He steeled himself but…he wasn’t prepared. _Christ. Would he ever be able to see him and not remember?_

“Hmm,” Kavinsky hummed, stepping into Ronan’s personal space. “You haven’t been sleeping.” He reached up, as if to touch Ronan’s face, but Ronan flinched. Kavinsky’s expression was troubled but then smoothed into a smirking façade. “Bad dreams, Princess?”

“Don’t talk to me,” Ronan snarled. “Just stay the fuck away from me.”

“Heh,” Kavinsky laughed. “Wasn’t that long ago you couldn’t get enough of me. How times change. But you’ll come back.” Kavinsky leaned in to whisper in his ear, “They all come back.”

Ronan wanted to yell at him, curse him, but giving Kavinsky even that much of a response would only fuel his aggression. Push him away and he would come back, and Ronan would be the only one suffering. With an effort Ronan walked away, pushing blindly through the crowds until he was back with Adam. Blue followed him, keeping quiet.

Adam saw them coming, saw the look on Ronan’s face, the tense way he held himself, and quickly, though politely, excused himself from his customers.

“Blue, take over for me?” he asked. She nodded and stepped behind the booth and then Ronan was in Adam’s arms. He didn’t know where all the food went, what had happened to it. It took him a moment to realize that they were standing in the alley behind the antique store. He had lost time. Not much but still…it was fucking unnerving. Adam was holding him, not saying a word. Ronan could feel the beat of Adam’s heart, his steady inhale and exhale as he breathed, the press of his damp cotton T-shirt over his solid chest. He closed his eyes and _felt_ , he closed his eyes and talked.

“Kavinsky’s here,” he said.

Adam squeezed tighter, his face pressed against Ronan’s neck.

“I panicked. Again.” Ronan took a breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t apologize,” Adam whispered. “Not for this.” His fingers dug into Ronan’s back. “I hate that he makes you feel this way, but it’s not your fault, Ronan. You did nothing wrong.”

“I want to believe that, Adam, I really do but I’ve done some pretty fucked up stuff and like what if this is karma or some shit? Divine payback?”

“You think God is making you have panic attacks?”

“Fuck, I don’t know,” Ronan grumbled.

Adam pulled back so he could hold Ronan’s face in his hands. Ronan was surprised to see that Adam looked close to tears.

“Ronan Lynch,” Adam’s voice was unsteady. “I know fuckall about religion, but any god who would make you suffer like this, for any reason, isn’t worth knowing.” Adam took several deep breaths and blinked rapidly. “You are having panic attacks because someone hurt you, and that’s on them, 100%. And I don’t know the circumstances but I’m here now, okay? If you want to talk, I’ll listen.” Ronan looked down, unable to keep staring at Adam without totally breaking down. Adam kissed his forehead. “Irish Breakfast, you got me. I’m on your side, no matter what.”

The code name was a surprise and it broke Ronan out of his funk. He laughed, quietly, and cupped his hand around the back of Adam’s neck.

“C’mere, Cinnamon,” he said and pulled Adam in for a kiss.

It was a bit shaky, a bit desperate, a bit too intense. It didn’t magically solve anything; Ronan was still freaked out, he was still upset. But with Adam’s help Ronan thought that he stood a chance of being okay. Maybe not today, maybe not anytime soon, but someday.

Ronan was dimly aware that something was buzzing.

“I think you got a text,” Adam murmured, his mouth moving along Ronan’s jaw, peppering his rough, stubbled skin with kisses.

Ronan didn’t really care about the text but he checked his phone anyway.

There was a short message: _see you on the 4 th, fucker_


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Umm...did someone say camping??

_The Fourth of July_. Every year since his arrival in Henrietta Kavinsky had hosted epic and debauched parties during the holiday. The fireworks were the stuff of dreams, the drugs out of this world, and the tales told about the Kavinsky bacchanalia were legendary. Ronan had never been. Last year he had spent the day with his family, having what Niall Lynch ironically called a good ole American time, grilling, drinking (beer for Niall, wine for Aurora, soda for the kids), and watching the fireworks display from the roof of the house. Gansey had been there, one of the few outsiders welcomed whole-heartedly into the tight-knit Lynch family.

The 4th was next weekend. Ronan couldn’t believe that he had forgotten. He was still reeling from Kavinsky’s arrogant, domineering bullshit, still trying to process that after everything that had happened, Kavinsky honestly thought that Ronan was going to come to his party. _Not fucking likely_.

Ronan wanted to be fully present with Adam, soaking up the quaint Market Day charm (Adam’s words, not his) but he couldn’t stop fretting. He was biting the inside of his cheek compulsively and he could taste blood, feel bits of torn flesh before he swallowed. It didn’t make him feel better. Ronan thought that some of the craft beers being sold a few tables away, by a crunchy hippie couple, might do the trick but they didn’t look like the type to sell to minors.

“Ronan.” Adam was kneeling in front of him. He placed a hand on Ronan’s knee, which is when Ronan realized that he had been jostling his leg up and down.

“I’m—” Ronan stopped. He was going to apologize but Adam had already told him that he had nothing to apologize for. He shook his head once, clearing his thoughts. “I’m okay,” he said. “What’s up?”

Adam offered him a small smile. “Market’s closing up soon.”

“Already?” It seemed like they hadn’t been there very long.

“Yeah, we try to get out of here by 3 at the latest. It’s so damn hot that no one, including shoppers, wants to be out in the heat.”

 _It was hot_. Ronan wiped away some of the sweat that had beaded on his forehead and cheeks. He was thankful for Adam’s beach umbrella, which kept them out of the sun, and for the cool breeze. Ronan wiped his hands on his jeans.

“Man I was so out of it I didn’t notice that we’re currently living one floor up from hell,” Ronan groaned.

“Ha! You think this is hot? Sometimes, when my dad was extra mad at me he—” Adam didn’t continue. His tanned face paled a little and he grimaced. “Anyways. We’d better start packing up.”

Ronan wanted to ask what Adam was going to say about his father. He still didn’t know exactly why Adam had moved out of his parents’ house. Adam Parrish was tough, resourceful; whatever had caused him to leave his family must have been truly terrible. It made Ronan feel sick, and stupidly selfish. He was still suffering over Kavinsky but Adam…Adam had gone through a falling out with the two people who should have been constants in his life, and other than occasional flashbacks, like now, Adam seemed to be okay. Was he really? Was Ronan so caught up in his own drama that he was ignoring Adam?

Adam and Ronan worked in preoccupied silence, boxing up the remaining stock (Adam had done very well and sold most of what he brought; all of the mugs had sold, thank God), folding up the table, chairs, and umbrella, disposing of their garbage. The other vendors made plans to meet up for drinks or a late lunch. Everyone was talking about their plans for the following weekend. There would be a sizable tourist crowd over the holiday and the Market was hosting special events like live music and dancing, a wine tasting, a barbecue cook-off. Ms. Torres had pointedly reminded Adam that her grandson (“Gabriel, you remember, I showed you his picture”) was going to be at the upcoming Market and she would _love_ to introduce the two of them. Adam smiled politely and then pulled Ronan in for a side hug, his arm wrapped tightly around Ronan’s waist, and informed Ms. Torres that he and _his boyfriend_ would be out of town for the weekend. This was news to Ronan but he kept his mouth shut and nodded along like he was a part of this Escape Henrietta for the 4 th Plan.

Once everything was loaded up in the BMW and they were en route to 300 Fox Way Ronan brought up Adam’s comment.

“Are we really going to be out of town next weekend?”

Adam was leaned back in the passenger seat, his face flushed from the heat and hauling boxes, sweat was trickling down the side of his neck… _damn_. Their windows were rolled down, and it meant their words had to be half-shouted to be heard.

Adam’s expression was complicated. “I think it would be a good idea,” he said. “We don’t know what Kavinsky is planning and I would prefer to have you far away from him when he rolls into party mode.”

Ronan flashed back to some of Kavinsky’s parties. He could remember all of them but the last. He gripped the steering wheel and took deep, steadying breaths.

“I agree,” he finally said. “What do you have in mind?”

Adam flashed him a gleeful, impish smile. “Camping.”

“Uh…” Ronan did not know what to say. Camping? Seriously?

“You’ve never been camping?” Adam asked, incredulous.

“Well…no. Not so much.” Ronan spent hours and hours during sleep visiting a dream forest. It was a magical and benign place, free from the perils that lurked in the Appalachian forests. Perils like snakes, bears, ticks, deranged murders, and spiders. Ronan Lynch may have been a farm boy at heart, but that was only at the Barns. Growing up, Niall Lynch was gone as often as he was home, and when he was home the family stuck close to the Barns. So no, he didn’t have any warm, fuzzy memories of family camping misadventures. He and Matthew used to camp in the hayloft but that was the extent of his experience.

“This will be fun!” Adam enthused. “Seriously. I started camping recently while on harvesting forays.”

“Harvesting forays?” _Jesus, Adam sounded so much like Gansey sometimes_.

“Yeah, like when I forage berries and herbs in the wild. You can’t get more organic than that.”

“Hmmm.” Ronan was skeptical because _ticks spiders snakes bears killers_ but… “So we’ll be sharing a tent and everything?”

Adam blushed and scratched at the back of his neck. “That’s the plan.”

Ronan laughed. “Be real with me, you _have_ been planning this out. This wasn’t just a spur of the moment decision.”

Adam shrugged helplessly. “I mean, okay, yes. Yes, I’ve been planning to go camping sometime this summer and then I met you and I couldn’t help but think what it would be like for us to go camping…together.”

Adam started talking camping sites, logistics, what supplies they should bring but Ronan’s mind was trapped in a seductive loop: him and Adam, alone, in a tent, in the wilderness. Would they share sleeping bags? And it was really hot so Adam wouldn’t expect for them to be sleeping fully clothed, right? Who even wore clothes to bed? But then they might get cold during the night because it _was_ the mountains and then they would have to huddle together for warmth for survival purposes. And then…

Ronan was so engrossed in his camping fantasy that he missed the turn for Fox Way and Adam yelled at him to pull a U-turn. Ronan blushed, worried that Adam would guess where his mind had been, or worse, that the psychics would take one look at him and tell Adam how absolutely filthy his imagination was. (Although, Adam was the one with the so-called Naughty Switch so he probably wouldn’t mind…)

300 Fox Way was not easy to miss, and with Gansey’s brilliant orange Camero parked out front, it was impossible to pass by. Gansey was lounging against the side of the Pig, looking effortlessly dashing, and talking with Blue. Well, talking might be a stretch. It looked like they were arguing. Ronan parked behind Gansey and he and Adam climbed out of the BMW. It felt like they had entered another dimension somehow, leaving behind the close, sheltered interior of the car for the unpredictable world of the Henrietta psychics. Though it probably wasn’t unpredictable for the psychics, but Ronan felt like anything could happen. He wasn’t happy to be here but for Gansey he would do just about anything.

“Lynch! Parrish!” Gansey hailed them, his voice pitched with relief. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

Adam rose to the occasion and moved over to shake hands with Gansey. They chatted amiably about the Market and how Adam’s booth had made a good profit, online sales, food licenses, taxes; it was enough to make Ronan want to die of boredom. He resumed his traditional aloof persona, at least until Blue Sargent sidled up to him. Her gaze was shrewd and Ronan was uncomfortably aware that she had seen him almost have a panic attack.

“Hey,” Blue said. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her stance was set, like she was expecting to withstand a tackle.

“Hey,” Ronan said back. He scuffed his boots in the dirt before glancing at Adam and Gansey, then back at Blue. “Um, thanks for helping me out. Earlier. With Kavinsky.”

“No problem.” Blue offered him a nod but her scrutiny had not abated. “So. What’s your deal with Kavinsky?”

“That’s really none of your business,” Ronan said. He wanted to play nice but _Jesus Christ_.

“Okay…maybe so but I’m concerned. If Kavinsky finds out you and Adam are together it might get ugly.”

“It’s already ugly,” Ronan snapped, frustrated beyond belief that this strange girl, _Adam’s fucking ex_ , was interrogating him about Kavinsky.

Blue shrugged. “With Kavinsky most things are. By the way, what he said about me and Adam, that wasn’t true. We were never together…like that.”

“Well, uh, okay,” Ronan stammered. He had been trying very hard not to think about Adam being romantically involved with anyone. Speculating seemed like a waste of time, not to mention emotionally taxing. If Adam ever wanted to tell him about his past love life then he would but Ronan wasn’t going to go snooping.

“Good. I’m glad we got that sorted out.” Blue smiled, and this time it looked almost genuine. “Sorry for giving you a hard time. Adam’s kind of like family around here.”

 _Family_? Ronan stopped himself from saying something hurtful like _You date your family? Jesus, you really are hicks_. His knee jerk reaction these days, when confronted with something problematic, was to say something awful. And Adam considering his ex-girlfriend’s family as _his_ family was problematic.

“Blue, are they ready for us?” Adam asked. He sauntered over, his hands shoved in his pants pockets. His hair was tousled from riding with the car windows rolled down and the tips of his ears were pink from the sun and heat. Sweat stained the back of his shirt and Ronan imagined that if he touched Adam right now his skin would be sticky with dried sweat. Ronan sighed. Sweaty, disheveled Adam was so very sexy. He wanted to suggest skipping out on the tarot reading or whatever and going for a camping trip in the backseat of the BMW.

Alas, it was not meant to be.

“Yeah, we can head in,” Blue answered and led Gansey up the steps to the porch; Adam followed and Ronan trailed behind him.

The front door opened just as Blue reached for it and a psychic peered out at them. To Ronan she looked like a mom, not a psychic, though she did wear a long flowing skirt, her hair streaming around her shoulders. She looked supremely _aware_. Her gaze skipped from Gansey to Adam to Ronan and she sucked in a sudden, dramatic breath.

“ _Well!_ ” she exclaimed, staring hard at Ronan then Adam. “I see you found _him_.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of psychics and mushroom tea

“Hello, Maura,” Adam said. He stepped forward and hugged her, breaking the spell that Ronan had been under ever since this intimidating woman had glared at him and hissed _I see you found him_. Next to Adam the woman looked smaller, not like the towering figure he had first glimpsed. In fact, she wasn’t much taller than Blue.

Ronan watched Adam and Maura hug. He was on guard, weirded out by the psychics and Maura’s strange greeting. But he wanted to make a good impression because this woman was embracing Adam, not like a friend or acquaintance, but like a mother. Ronan felt a pang, missing Aurora and her cheerful, smothering embraces.

“Maura, this is Ronan Lynch,” Adam said, pulling out of her arms and reaching for Ronan. Ronan felt a thrill as Adam grabbed his hand and laced their fingers together. _Laced!_ Ronan was _never_ getting used to this, to feeling wanted by Adam. “Ronan, this is Maura Sargent, Blue’s mother.”

“Hey,” Ronan said. He was glad that Adam was holding his hand because it prevented him from shaking hands with Maura. Maura looked equally relieved, her hands pressed firmly to her hips, arms akimbo, with a stance that rivaled Blue’s “take no shit” bearing. “Um, it’s nice to meet you,” Ronan mumbled. It certainly _wasn’t_ nice but _good impression, Lynch, make a fucking good impression_.

“Hmm,” Maura mused, “we’ll see.”

“Mom!” Blue burst in. “Be nice! This is Adam’s _boyfriend_.”

Maura snorted. “Yes, I can see that, dear. Honestly…” She shook her head and then turned to Gansey, who was watching the entire interaction with a politely bemused expression.

“You must be Gansey,” Maura said. She shook Gansey’s outstretched hand and ushered him inside. “Calla and Persephone are already in the reading room, waiting.” She cast a glance at Ronan, her eyes narrowing for a moment. “Adam, you can bring your _boyfriend_.”

Gansey followed Maura and Blue down the tight hallway, already chatting amiably about ley lines and energy, prodding Maura for insights into potential resting places of sleeping Welsh kings. The quest. It never stopped, would never stop, not until they found Glendower. Ronan sighed heavily. He was in this quest, for Gansey, and he would do whatever was required of him, he would follow where he was led, even into a nest of psychics.

Adam squeezed Ronan’s hand and bumped his hip against Ronan’s. “We don’t have to go in there,” he whispered. “If you don’t want, we can wait outside.”

That sounded perfect to Ronan, extra alone time with Adam. But he told Gansey he would do this. And he needed to know why Maura had reacted the way she did when she first saw him.

“It’s okay,” Ronan murmured. “I think…I need to do this.”

“Okay.” Adam gave him a peck on the cheek and pulled him into the reading room.

Ronan _felt_ the psychics; it was like the shock of taking sheets from the dryer, or trying to pet a cat when the winter air was too dry. Something in him was reacting to them, something about all of them in this room felt momentous and terrifying.

_What the hell…_

The women sitting on either side of Maura immediately snapped to attention when Ronan entered the room. “It’s _him_ ,” they said, in unison. Ronan almost turned and fled, quest be damned. It was eerie as fuck.

Only Adam’s steadying presence kept him in place. Ronan realized he was probably hurting Adam, squeezing his hand too hard, so he tried to ease up but Adam gripped him back, until it felt like their two hands had fused into one, a tangle of flesh and bones.

“Gansey,” Adam said, “I know you have questions, but perhaps it would be best if the ladies explain—” Adam gestured at Ronan.

“Yes, of course.” Gansey looked unnerved. “Actually, I am dying to know what’s going on here.”

Blue muttered something about getting tea and wandered out of the room. The psychics all looked at each other; it was like they were having a telepathic conference call, all intent looks, raised eyebrows, quirked lips. Blue came back with a tray covered in mugs and a steaming pot of tea. Adam tugged Ronan into a love seat and the two of them crammed together, Adam half sitting on Ronan. Ronan would have ordinarily been beyond thrilled to have Adam in his lap but right now…he couldn’t think about that. He accepted a pungent mug of tea from Blue, clutching it in his free hand and blowing gently at the surface to cool it.

The psychics sipped at their tea and stared. Ronan was reminded of the three fates, the Norns, the weird sisters of Macbeth. Not that the psychics were grotesque or old, in fact they were, well, Ronan supposed they were nice looking. Not really his department. They were unique: one was pale, willowy, with billows of white hair, like an ethereal dandelion; one was strong and imposing, dark, statuesque, looking like she was more than capable of beating him unconscious; Maura was…Ronan couldn’t say, exactly, she was a balance of the other two, she seemed clever, almost sly, and indomitable. Sitting before them was one of the most nerve-racking moments of Ronan’s life, it was like his entire existence was being judged and they might decide to dispose of him or release him back into the wild. He squeezed Adam’s hand.

“Do you like the tea?” Adam whispered in his ear. _Dammit, why was Adam_ whispering _in his ear in front of everyone?! Fuck…not cool._

Ronan took a deep breath and forced himself to swallow a mouthful of the tea which smelled unpleasantly like mushrooms. It did, in fact, taste like mushrooms. Ronan fought a valiant battle to keep his distaste from showing.

“Mmm,” he mumbled. “What kind of tea is this?”

“Do you like it?” Maura asked. “One of Orla’s many admirers set her a care package from Japan with reishi mushrooms, also know as the supernatural mushroom. We’ve been brewing teas with them, for medical purposes, of course.”

“Of course,” Ronan managed to say. He wanted to gag. Gansey was politely taking small sips of tea, his face the perfect mask of geniality. Adam was drinking the tea like the connoisseur he was, probably trying to think of a way to make the concoction actually palatable.

“Well,” Maura said, “we may as well get started. This is Persephone,” she said, gesturing to the pale woman. “And this is Calla,” she placed a hand on the imposing woman’s shoulder. Persephone waved, Calla sneered. Maura took a deep breath before continuing. “We all know who you are.”

There was a deep, meaningful pause.

“Adam came to us, months ago, seeking temporary shelter and guidance,” Maura started. Ronan could feel Adam’s pulse speed up, felt Adam hunkering closer to him. “He asked for a reading. We all knew Adam, of course. He dated my daughter, Blue, for a brief time. And Henrietta isn’t a large place; in some ways our lives have always touched. But Adam had never asked for a reading, you understand, this was a first.” Maura had taken her tarot deck in her hands and was absently shuffling the cards. Persephone was hugging her deck against her chest, as if warming it. Calla pressed her deck against her knee like a weapon.

“We did a Celtic Cross Spread,” Maura continued. “The three of us, with Blue assisting. What we found was…interesting. We could see major changes in store for Adam, life altering changes, and it hinged on meeting someone…”

“Just show him the card,” Adam said quietly. He was practically sitting on Ronan at this point and Ronan couldn’t tell if it was for his comfort or Adam’s.

Maura leaned forward, one card in her outstretched hand. Ronan took it; the card was warm in his palm. The image was of two ravens, alabaster and ebony, nested together in a hazy, dark void. It was like the two birds were the only creatures in existence, or like they were gods making the world as they went. It could signify anyone, Ronan thought. But it felt right somehow. Adam touched the edge of the card and peeked over at Ronan.

“Spooky,” Ronan murmured, just for Adam. Adam nodded, serious.

“I’m confused,” Ronan admitted. “How do you know that this is me? Or like that me and Adam are what…destined? This is just a card…I don’t understand.”

Maura took the card back, examining it carefully before tucking it back into the deck.

“Tell me,” Persephone whispered. “What did you feel when you saw Adam for the first time?”

“I…” This was getting a bit too personal. Ronan looked at Adam, who nodded for him to continue. “I felt like I was waking up for the first time. Like I’d been stumbling around believing I was awake when really I had been asleep, dreaming.” That was getting perilously close to his secret. Ronan tightened his fingers around Adam’s, rubbed his thumb over Adam’s scarred knuckles. He looked at Adam, speaking to him, not the room. “I’ve _never_ felt like this,” he whispered. He wanted—needed—to tell Adam more, to tell him everything but not right now. Still, the truth was clawing to be free.

“Adam,” Calla prompted, “how did you feel when you first saw Ronan?”

Adam blushed. “I saw him in St. Agnes, playing the piano in the middle of the night.” He placed a hand on Ronan’s shoulder, keeping his beautiful blue eyes fixed on Ronan. _God he was so perfect_. “The moon was shining in through the stained glass; it was a full moon and it was bright, so bright. I heard the music, and then I saw Ronan, just in profile but still, it felt like my heart was breaking. Or like the wall around my heart was breaking.” Adam gave an awkward chuckle. “Sorry, this just sounds so cliché. But really, that’s how it was. And…” He wrapped his arm around Ronan’s shoulders, hugging him briefly. “I’ll tell you the rest later,” he whispered. Ronan was ready for later to be right now.

Gansey and Blue were staring at them like they were some sort of scientific wonder. Ronan felt like a scientific wonder or something. He _felt_. Everything. It was frightening and awesome and beautiful and profound and fucking life changing. What did it all mean? Love? Fate? Destiny?

Maura was explaining how she and Calla and Persephone had been able to sense Ronan and Adam’s bond, how it was something special, really special. She actually used the phrase “earth shattering.” That’s when Ronan decided he had to leave. He stood up, nearly dumping Adam out of his lap, and, without apology or excuse, made his retreat.

It was only once Ronan was standing outside, in the yard behind 300 Fox Way, that he realized he was still clutching Adam’s hand like a lifeline. Adam was trying to give him some space, standing as far away as their arms would allow. He was watching Ronan closely, his expression wary. Ronan stumbled over and sank to his knees beneath a large, beautiful beech tree. Adam stood next to him. For a while Ronan lost himself in the whisper of the wind through the branches, in the dance of the leaves, in the sighing rasp of air moving around them. _Fated_. Ronan shuddered. Part of him wanted to be alone to try and wrap his brain around this complete mindfuck. But it was only a small part. Overwhelmingly, Ronan just wanted Adam to be close. If they could stick together then they could figure it out, somehow.

Ronan leaned back against the beech and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Hey,” he said, tugging on Adam’s hand, “come down here.”

Adam complied, sinking down to Ronan’s level, allowing himself to be maneuvered until he was straddling Ronan, his knees pressed into the grass and dirt. Ronan had intended to talk, to ask questions, but it was _Adam_. Adam above him, Adam touching his shoulders, his neck, his face. Adam leaning down to kiss his brow, each eyelid, his cheekbones, his chin, his mouth. Ronan pressed his palms against Adam’s lower back, bringing them closer together, kissing Adam. The moment felt dreamlike and slow, like it had happened before, like it was always happening. Adam’s tongue in his mouth, Adam’s breath in his lungs, Adam’s arms and legs wrapping around him until Ronan felt totally enmeshed in Adam Parrish.

Ronan didn’t know how long they were like this, lost in their own dreamland. They had found a rhythm of kissing and breathing, and it felt endless and perfect. Ronan took the opportunity, during a breathing break to murmur, “It doesn’t matter.” Adam looked questioning. “The fate thing. It doesn’t matter.”

Adam pulled back a little. “It does,” he said. “It matters.”

Ronan scrambled for words. His brain didn’t feel up for a debate just then. “Well it doesn’t change this. Us.” He cupped the side of Adam’s face in his hand; he brushed Adam’s hair off his forehead, admiring again Adam’s lovely eyes.

“Agreed,” Adam whispered against Ronan’s ear. He kissed his way down Ronan’s neck, making him shiver. “But I like it,” he continued, nipping at Ronan’s collarbone. “I like that we belong together.” He sucked at Ronan’s skin.

“Adam…” Ronan felt undone. “Psychics…” he hissed.

“YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE A PSYCHIC TO SEE WHAT’S GOING ON!” Blue yelled.

Adam jerked back and Ronan choked and started coughing. Then they were both laughing, falling on each other and the ground, bright, wide smiles stretched across their faces.

“Mom, _what_ was in that tea?” Ronan heard Blue shout. He was giddy, a mixture of happiness and nerves and embarrassment.

Adam found his feet first and pulled Ronan up. They were both covered in grass and dirt and Adam had a ladybug in his hair. Ronan tried to position Adam in front of him but then found Adam was trying to do the same thing so they ended up standing facing each other snickering with embarrassed laughter while Blue continued being loud. Ronan didn’t want to look down because…awkward, and Adam didn’t either so they were stuck staring into each other’s eyes, grinning and blushing.

“So you and me?” Ronan asked.

“Looks like it,” Adam shrugged oh so casually.

“I can live with that,” Ronan nodded solemnly.

Adam broke the rules by looking down before giving Ronan a saucy smile. “I bet you can,” he said with a teasing wink.

“Y’ALL ARE IMPOSSIBLE!!!” Blue yelled from the house. Ronan and Adam laughed. Maybe fate wasn’t so bad.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Advanced warning that this update covers some pretty heavy stuff including conversation about past non-con. If you’re not comfortable reading it just message me and I can give you a short summary. Istg that the next couple updates will be happy Tea Boys fluff.

_Fate. Destiny. Fate. Destiny. Fatedestiny. fatedestinyfatefatefatefatefatefate._

Ronan had a classical education, he knew fate never meant a happy ending, and destiny was just a slightly more hopeful term for a doom you couldn’t escape. Ronan didn’t like that these words had been fixed to him and Adam. He didn’t like the idea that he and Adam had been shoved together by…what? Mystical forces? God? The fucking ley line? He wanted their story to be simply that: _theirs_.

Ronan shifted on the thin mattress, trying to get comfortable. Adam sighed.

“Sorry,” Ronan mumbled. “Did I wake you?”

Adam was sandwiched between him and the wall of the attic apartment, lying on his side facing Ronan. They had been trying to nap, or at least Adam was trying and Ronan was failing. He wasn’t much for naps, or sleeping.

“I wasn’t really asleep,” Adam admitted. “I guess I’m not used to having someone in bed with me.”

Ronan blushed. It sounded more intimate than it was; after all, they were both wearing clothes. Still… _he was in bed with Adam!_

“Hmm,” Ronan agreed.

“What are you thinking about?” Adam asked.

Ronan wanted to be witty or flirty but his innate honesty prohibited him from deflecting the question.

“Fate,” he replied. He was staring at the low ceiling of Adam’s apartment, examining the way it sloped up to a point. The wooden boards were unadorned and Ronan felt like carving his and Adam’s names, creating a mark showing that they had been there.

Adam sat up and peered at Ronan. He looked totally exhausted. Ronan knew that Adam had been picking up extra hours at the car shop and when he wasn’t working there or blending tea he was studying. It was summer break for Christ’s sake, why did he need to study?

“I thought you weren’t going to stress about this?” Adam looked worried.

“When did I say that?”

Adam sighed and lightly scratched his fingernails over the super short hairs on Ronan’s scalp. It prickled and felt nice. Ronan shut his eyes.

“It was implied,” Adam answered. “At Blue’s you said that it didn’t matter and that it wouldn’t effect us.” Ronan made a soft grunt of reluctant agreement. “So you need to stop worrying. You and I would have met, fate or no fate. And I think, no matter what universe we were in, we would…” He didn’t finish the sentence.

Ronan opened one eye and studied Adam’s expression. Adam was biting his lip, his cheeks flushed, and _was he going to cry?!_

“Adam…” Ronan reached out for him and Adam crumpled against his chest. And he was crying now. Ronan could feel the tears seeping into his shirt. _What was going on?_ “Hey, Adam, talk to me,” Ronan prompted, “why are you crying?”

“Because,” Adam’s voice was strangled, “because you…you’re acting like, like, I don’t know.” More sniffling. “I don’t want you to leave me.”

“I’m not—”

“Ronan,” Adam interrupted. “I need you to understand.” He cleared his throat and brushed the tears off his face. Ronan held him, his arms draped loosely around Adam’s shoulders and waist. He could feel Adam trembling and _god_ _that hurt_ ; he wanted Adam to stop shaking, to be okay, to know that they were okay.

“I told you that I first saw you in St. Agnes, playing the piano. And I said that it felt like my heart was breaking. The _reason_ I felt that way, Ronan, was because _your_ heart was breaking. Do you remember? It wasn’t all that long ago, the end of May. There was a full moon…”

Ronan did remember.

“I was missing my dad,” he whispered. “And my mom.” He took a deep breath. “God, I miss them.” Adam propped his chin on Ronan’s chest and watched him, his eyes shining from the tears. Was Adam feeling what he felt? Was that possible? “That night…I was pretty drunk and fucking miserable. I couldn’t be in the same space as Gansey and Noah; I could barely stand to be in my own skin. I was feeling…like I didn’t care anymore and I was so tired of it all. You know? I felt like my heart was shredded because…” Ronan stopped. This was moving into seriously fucked up territory.

“You can tell me,” Adam said softly. “I want you to.”

Ronan considered it. He focused on his breathing, on Adam’s weight on his chest, on the way their heartbeats and breath had synced up. _Soul mates_. Ronan thought the concept was far too lofty and vast and terrifying for him and this adorable, hardworking tea boy. And yet.

“I don’t want you to hate me,” Ronan whispered.

Adam pressed a soft kiss on Ronan’s chest, knocking his heartbeat out of their syncopated rhythm. “Not possible,” Adam said with an encouraging smile.

Ronan managed a queasy smile before taking a deep breath. He could do this, even if he had never told anyone else, even if he had tried to bury it all and pretend it didn’t happen…

“I used to be…involved…with Kavinsky.” Adam stilled, his eyes widened. _Shit_. “It wasn’t for very long, about a month or so and…it didn’t end well.” _Understatement of the year_. Adam’s gaze didn’t waver and his expression was perfectly blank, impossible to read.

“Bad enough to give you panic attacks,” Adam said.

Ronan nodded. “It… We… Our _relationship_ was mostly, um, physical.” Ronan didn’t want to talk about this, not with Adam, not ever. “I was pretty screwed up because of my dad and some other stuff and Kavinsky was like the only one who understood or who could help me and yeah… I was just so…  I fell for him, Adam, and it fucking destroyed me.”

Adam didn’t say anything at first, like he was giving Ronan more time to explain. Finally he broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. “What happened?”

Ronan cringed, internally and externally. He couldn’t do this lying down, he couldn’t do this facing Adam. He got out of bed, gently moving Adam to the side, and started pacing. The wooden floor was rough beneath his bare feet. The walls and the roof seemed to be closing in around him. There wasn’t enough air to breath… Ronan realized that he was getting close to panicking so he sat down with his back to the door and hung his head between his knees. Seconds ticked by as he tried to regain control of his body and emotions.

“I don’t remember,” Ronan mumbled into his knee. He heard Adam get out of bed and cross the room to sit in front of him. “I was really drunk and I think I got drugged because I blacked out. I remember being at the party and then… I woke up in Kavinsky’s bed and…” Ronan tasted bile on the back of his throat and he gagged, trying to swallow it down. He was shaking, sweating. Adam was up and back, pressing a glass of water into his trembling hands. Ronan took a few swallows before setting it down on the floor. He snuck a look at Adam. Adam’s face was pale and he looked furious. Ronan ducked his head, feeling so fucking ashamed.

“Did he…” Adam couldn’t get the words out and Ronan didn’t want to hear them.

“Yeah,” Ronan said. It was gutting, to say it, to have Adam know.

“I will kill him,” Adam said. The cold, utterly ruthless tone made Ronan look up and dare to meet his eyes. If looks could kill Kavinsky would have been incinerated.

Ronan didn’t say anything for a while. His eyes were burning and he thought he might cry. He hugged his knees to his chest and stared at the torn hole over his knee. He felt hollowed out and exposed, unable to look at Adam again.

“Ronan,” Adam’s voice was small, hesitant. “Ronan, is it okay if I touch you?”

Ronan nodded against his knees. Adam moved over and sat next to him and pulled Ronan into his arms. It was good, like Adam was both draining his bad energy and replacing it with something light and restful. _Soul mates_.

“I couldn’t tell anyone,” Ronan whispered. “I mean, I didn’t even remember and K said…well, he said that I said yes but I don’t remember, Adam. But before that night I told him I didn’t want to. He _knew_ that and still…” Shit, now Ronan really was crying. He took a deep, shuddering breath. “And I just felt, I mean I still feel, like so messed up about it. Because I did care for him, and we were both fucked up that night and I can’t make myself hate him but Christ I never want to see him again! But we both go to Aglionby and he won’t fucking leave me alone because he thinks we’ll get back together? And it just makes me feel like shit, you know? Like, God, I should have known better…” He was sobbing now, clutching Adam’s shirt while Adam kept his arms firmly clasped around him.

“It’s okay,” Adam was murmuring, over and over again. “I got you. You’re okay. Ronan. Ronan, Ronan, Ronan.” It was a litany, his name on repeat. Each time said with just the slightest difference, like Adam was trying out every way the syllables fit in his mouth. And then there was the absolution that Ronan had been so desperately wanting: “You did nothing wrong. Okay, Ronan? It wasn’t your fault and I swear that if Kavinsky ever comes near you again I will end him.” Ronan nodded against Adam’s chest. He felt so weary. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Kavinsky to suffer, all he wanted was to be left alone.

“Thanks,” Ronan mumbled. He was nodding off where he sat, suddenly drained and desperate for the sleep he so often deprived himself of. He was only half awake as Adam hoisted him to his feet and led him to the bed. He curled up on the mattress and Adam tucked the sheet around him. Ronan inhaled the dusty, herbal smell of the sheets and then dropped into dreaming.

—–

The dream was nearly impossible to remember upon waking. Ronan was still curled up in Adam’s bed. The room was darker, lit only by the glow of a desk lamp. Ronan couldn’t move to look around; his body still locked up in post-dreaming paralysis. He had something in his hands, something for Adam.

Ronan hadn’t entered his dreams with the intent of bringing something back. He remembered the dream forest, wandering by a narrow stream, following the sound of piano music. He didn’t find a piano. Instead he found a music box nestled in the roots of a tree. It was shaped like a teapot. There was a painted pattern of birds, a black raven and a white raven, almost geometric in design, repeating over and over like an Escher drawing. The music stopped. Ronan knelt and picked up the teapot, turning it over to find the knob at the bottom. He twisted it several times and the music started again. It was haunting and familiar but he couldn’t place it.

Ronan held the teapot and thought of the church at night, quiet and dark and dusty, smelling of incense and candle wax. He thought of how holy it felt, bathed in moonlight, how he imagined that God might actually visit such a place, if only to see the way the moon changed the stained glass to poignant murals of suffering. Ronan hadn’t felt comfortable in church for years but at night he felt a benediction. He felt it now in his dreams, a clean lightness spreading through his heart. The teapot was warm in his hands, glowing slightly. It was utterly beautiful and strange. It would be the perfect present.

The paralysis lifted in stages, starting in his fingers and toes and inching up his limbs to his torso. Ronan wriggled his fingers and felt the cool slide of porcelain. The teapot had come back with him. He clutched it to his chest and waited patiently for his freedom. Once he was able to move he rolled over, searching the tiny apartment for Adam. Adam was hunched over his desk, textbooks and notebooks spread before him, along with various pencils and pens. He watched as Adam took notes, looking up from time to time to consult with his textbook. He was so focused that he didn’t notice when Ronan got out of bed and moved to stand next to him, the teapot tucked behind his back.

“Latin?” Ronan asked.

Adam jumped in his seat, nearly knocking over the mug of tea that was steeping next to him.

“Ronan!” Adam exclaimed, one hand pressed over his chest. “You scared me to death! How are you so quiet?”

Ronan shrugged and grinned bashfully. “I’m not, really. You were just very into your work, apparently.”

Adam laughed nervously and glanced at his notes like they were a dirty secret. “Yeah, I’m still getting the hang of Latin and I really have to concentrate on it.” He flipped the book closed. It was the standard Latin textbook used at Aglionby. “Enough about my studying, though. How are you feeling?”

Ronan shrugged again. “Um, okay, I guess. Just, you know, sort of awkward because…”

Adam grabbed Ronan’s hand and brought it to his lips, kissing his knuckles. “Please,” he said quietly, “don’t feel awkward. I told you before that we can work though whatever history we bring into this relationship. I mean, I’m not a professional so if you think you need to speak to someone else you probably should, but please, don’t ever think that I feel differently about you because of what happened to you.” Adam swallowed hard, his grip on Ronan’s hand tightening. It looked like he wanted to say something else but he bit his lip instead. Still, the sentiment was understood. Ronan sighed.

“Okay,” Ronan said. “Um, so there’s actually something I still need to tell you. You know, for full disclosure.”

“Are you sure?” Adam asked. “I mean, you already went through a lot telling me about…your past. You don’t need to tell me everything right now.”

“I know, but it feels like I need to get it all out,” Ronan admitted. The concept of being _destined_ to be with Adam was like some kind of purifying fire or something. Like he needed Adam to know what he was getting into. Being Ronan Lynch was so complicated; being _with_ Ronan Lynch, he imagined, would be just as difficult.

“Close your eyes and hold out your hands,” Ronan instructed.

Adam gave him a quizzical smile but did as he was told. Ronan wound up the teapot and carefully placed it in Adam’s open hands. The music started to play and Adam gasped, his eyes flying open in surprise.

“This is the song you were playing in church!” Adam exclaimed.

“It…it was?” Ronan honestly couldn’t remember.

“Yes! Oh my…how did you…where did this come from?” Adam was examining the teapot, each strange, small detail increasing his wonder. “This pattern,” he murmured, “it’s like Maura’s card. And…is the pot glowing?!”

Ronan laughed. “Yeah, it’s glowing. I don’t know why. Maybe because you’re happy?”

Adam smiled but looked confused. “How is that possible? Ronan, where did this come from?”

Ronan knelt in front of Adam, wrapping his hands around Adam’s and the teapot. “It came from my dreams.”


	17. Chapter 17

“Did you pack your phone charger? What about sunscreen? And bug spray! And…honestly did you pack anything? Ronan. Ronan! Take off your damnable headphones and listen to me!”

Gansey was having early onset separation anxiety and Ronan was (spitefully) enjoying every minute of it. Ever since that _fateful_ meeting at 300 Fox Way Gansey had gone into worried parent mode, continually checking on Ronan, asking if he was okay at least fifty times a day, and hovering constantly. The camping trip with Adam, which was finally, _finally_ happening, could not have come at a better time. If Ronan stayed at Monmouth much longer he would go insane.

“Gansey,” Ronan drawled. “I’m going _camping_. I don’t need my phone. There’s probably not gonna be service anyways. Also, I don’t use sunscreen or bug spray. That’s for the weak.”

Gansey groaned in frustration. “You are a fair skinned snowflake whose blood attracts every hematophagous creature! You need protection.”

“Oh, he’s got protection,” Noah snickered. “I checked.”

“Jesus, Noah!” Ronan exclaimed, his face bright red. Gansey looked shocked. “It’s not… I mean, I’m not _planning_ anything, for fuck’s sake. You know, it’s just in case…”

Noah kept grinning like a perv and Gansey looked like he was about to try and give Ronan the sex talk.

“And what the fuck is hematophagous?” Ronan demanded, to distract him.

“It means something that feeds on blood,” Gansey explained. “From the Greek. You’re slipping, Lynch.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ronan sighed and shrugged on his backpack and headed for the door. “Alright, I’m going! Have a good Fourth without me!”

He had almost made it out when Gansey and Noah grabbed him for a group hug. Noah, the cheeky bastard, slipped his freezing cold hands up Ronan’s shirt, making him squirm. Gansey buried his face in the crook of Ronan’s neck and for a moment Ronan lost himself in the hug, his nose pressed into Gansey’s mint scented hair. But only for a moment.

“Okay, enough! I’ll be back before you know it.” He pulled out of their arms and careened down the stairs.

“Bring back souvenirs!” Noah called.

“Watch out for bears!” Gansey yelled.

Ronan waved once and then threw himself into the BMW. His heart was racing. He was about to embark on a road trip with Adam Parrish! An entire weekend of just him and Adam, adventuring in the wilderness! This was the epic kind of shit people wrote ballads about. Or at least top 20 pop songs (not the Ronan knew any top 20 pop songs). It was pretty fucking unbelievable, especially considering that Adam now knew Ronan’s secrets. Ronan had revealed his ability to take objects from dreams, he had disclosed his troubled past with Kavinsky, and Adam didn’t leave him. Adam wanted to be with him, in spite of everything. It was enough to make Ronan believe in miracles. Or fate.

Adam was waiting at the bottom of the stairs leading up to his apartment, looking like a dream come true. Ronan’s heart skipped a beat. How did Adam make a ragged old T-shirt and camo cargo pants look so damn sexy?! Adam stood up and stretched, dragging out the moment and giving Ronan ample time to check out the nice, lean lines of his body. Ronan parked and got out of the car and tried not to run to Adam. Adam’s smile was…it was…perfect. Like joy and love magically personified. Like seeing Ronan had made Adam’s life. _How was this boy even real?_ Ronan caught Adam up in a tight hug, pulling him off the steps and whirling him around in a circle. Adam clung to his shoulders, his head thrown back in surprised laughter. Ronan felt himself smiling, felt the crash of Adam’s heart pounding against his chest, he felt everything. _Perfect, perfect, perfect._

They were both dizzy by the time Ronan stopped spinning around, wobbling on unsteady legs, clinging to each other and grinning. Then they were kissing and Ronan felt like his heart couldn’t withstand the sharp pangs of joy that were assaulting him. Adam’s hands were on his face, then his neck, then his back. Ronan couldn’t breath and didn’t want to, not when Adam was kissing him like this, like he wanted to devour him. Ronan decided he would happily die of kissing induced asphyxiation, as long as he died kissing Adam Parrish.

Adam pulled him back towards the stairs and Ronan followed and maybe they would have ended up back in Adam’s apartment, the camping trip postponed, but Adam stumbled on his bags. Adam fell backwards, Ronan pitched forwards. They landed in a heap in the dirt, Adam clutching the back of his head and Ronan blowing on his scraped and bleeding elbows.

“Look at us,” Adam gasped, sitting up and examining Ronan’s injuries. “We didn’t even make it out of Henrietta and we already need the first aid kit.”

“For this?” Ronan asked, pointing at the bleeding cuts. “This is nothing. ‘Tis but a scratch.’”

“Yeah, okay,” Adam replied, rolling his eyes to indicate that he did not find Ronan as funny as Ronan thought he was. “We don’t want those to get infected. Trust me, we’ll be covering a lot of ground and all kinds of guck could get into this.”

Ronan grumbled but allowed Adam to fix him up. He slumped on the hood of the BMW, Adam standing between his knees. Adam grabbed a cotton ball, soaked it in rubbing alcohol, and started cleaning the abraded skin. The alcohol burned and stung but Ronan almost didn’t notice, he was too intent on staring at Adam and enjoying the attention. Adam was so focused; it reminded Ronan of when Adam had first visited Monmouth, making a house call to blend Ronan anti-anxiety tea.

Adam coated the cuts with Neosporin and placed a bandage on them. Ronan bent his arm a couple times, admiring the way the bandage didn’t restrict his movement.

“You’re good at this,” Ronan observed.

Adam offered him a small smile and shrugged. “I had a lot of practice.” His voice had become even more country than it usually was, the vowels drawn out and twangy.

Ronan waited for Adam to elaborate but he didn’t; he just got to work on Ronan’s other elbow, his eyebrows scrunched in concentration. Ronan waited until Adam was done before pressing a light kiss on his jaw. He had been dying to do this the entire time, what with Adam’s lovely face being angled so near to his lips. Adam sighed, bracing his hands on the hood of the BMW, his eyes closing. They weren’t touching, except where Ronan’s lips met Adam’s skin, and the scant space between them felt like a tangible boundary, sparking like an electric fence. Ronan kissed Adam’s neck, licked at the hard knot of his Adam’s apple. A groan escaped Adam’s mouth as he tilted his head further back. Ronan kissed his way down the gorgeous curve of Adam’s throat, relishing the way Adam’s pulse sped beneath his lips. It was all too much. He wanted to touch him, to mold their bodies together until there was nothing separating the two of them…

The church bell rang out and they both startled. Adam opened his eyes and he looked dazed. Ronan felt like he had woken from a beautiful dream.

“Is it really nine already?” Adam murmured, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. He shook his head, as if clearing it, and stepped back and began packing up his kit. Ronan slid off the hood, swinging his arms and trying to get his mind on track. They were going camping. They were _not_ about to consummate their relationship in the parking lot of St. Agnes.

Ronan wasn’t sure what to say or do so he settled for grabbing Adam’s bags and putting them in the backseat. For a minimalist who lived in a tiny apartment Adam was bringing a lot of stuff. Most of it was camping equipment: tent, sleeping bag, an entire bag of food and cooking implements, countless plastic containers for foraging, and a duffle bag that Ronan assumed was filled with clothes and other necessities. And there were tins of tea because _of course_ Adam Parrish would bring his custom blends on a backwoods camping trip.

Ronan felt guilty about bringing so little but Adam had insisted that he would take care of their camping supplies since he already had most of them. He did allow Ronan to take him grocery shopping. They had spent well over an hour cruising through the local co-op. Ronan had assumed they would stock up on jerky, dried fruit, nuts, and Clif Bars, but Adam had other plans. The plans included a long list of foods that Ronan could not imagine taking into the wild (bell peppers? mushrooms?). He had tried to figure out what Adam was intending to cook but Adam had merely winked and promised that the surprise would be worth it.

Once everything was loaded Adam slipped into the passenger seat while Ronan settled into the driver’s seat. They shared a brief kiss and then Ronan started the car and they were on their way. The windows were rolled down. The morning sun was shining bright and the weather reports promised a clear and hot Fourth of July weekend. As they sped away from Henrietta Ronan felt his spirits lift. Every mile took him farther away from Kavinsky and the drama that was likely to unfold over the weekend. Every mile brought him closer to the mountains and freedom and Adam.

Adam called out directions to their destination. He had picked some camping sites on the Skyline Drive, places that would have good foraging and minimal campers, a feat considering that it was a holiday weekend. The wind was loud as they flew down the country roads, then the highway. Ronan jabbed at the console of the BMW until the car flooded with sound. Adam pressed his hands over his ears, his expression stricken as a grating voice shrieked: “Squash One! Squash Two!”

“Turn it off! Turn it off!” Adam wailed. Ronan cackled, proper villain laughter, before taking pity on his boyfriend ( _his boyfriend!_ ) and skipping to the next track. The low, deep rumble of Celtic chanting took the place of the Murder Squash Song. Adam cocked his head to the side, his expression bemused. The next track was a wild, trilling reel, fast and lovely and over too soon. It had been one of Niall’s favorite pieces to play. At last the strains of “Warrior Concerto” broke in and Ronan turned up the volume and pressed down on the gas, sending the BMW careening through sharp turns. Adam was holding onto the door handle and seat, his hair tossed by the wind, his eyes flashing and fixed on Ronan. Ronan could only spare brief glances, his attention otherwise occupied with driving, but _god_ Adam Parrish looked so good in his car.

The playlist continued on, mostly EDM and trance and electronica. It was the type of music that made Ronan long for empty, nighttime streets, the bright lights of neon signs and traffic signals, headlights and taillights. It promised danger and release. It made him want to fly. Perhaps it wasn’t the most thematically appropriate music for a rustic camping trip with your boyfriend but it was a window into Ronan’s soul. He hoped Adam was listening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is 100% fluff because I've had a super long, stressful week and I needed to write some soft Pynch kisses. Serious camping times will start next update!


	18. Chapter 18

Skyline Drive ended up being every bit as busy and congested as Adam had predicted it would be. Ronan pulled the BMW into the line of cars waiting to enter the park. At the booth he gave the attendant the customary $25 entrance fee and received a pass for his car and a map. As they proceeded forward Ronan had to wonder how Adam had managed to come up here before. Had he hitchhiked? Asked for rides? Ronan could imagine Adam bartering transit in exchange for tea.

“Take a right up here,” Adam instructed, not even glancing at the map that he held in his hands. “We’ll be camping about fifty miles away, but before we get there we’ll be making some stops.”

Ronan nodded. He was already chafing, especially since the white minivan in front of him was going ten miles _below_ the posted speed limit of 35 mph. He craned his head out the window and saw a line of cars trapped behind an enormous tour bus. Yes, the forest was pretty and the views were spectacular but _Jesus God could they just go faster?_

Adam was leaning out his window, too, sucking in lungfuls of the mountain air, his face relaxed as he took in the vibrant, arching trees. They passed lookout areas, most of them full of cars, and Ronan caught brief glimpses of the view before they crawled on.

Ronan _wanted_ to be enjoying this as much as Adam was but he didn’t understand the appeal of leaving behind the comforts of home to sleep in a tent at the mercy of bugs and wildlife. But apparently the rest of America thought it was a brilliant idea, hence the never-ending line of automobiles. The minivan in front of them was from Florida, for fuck’s sake! Did they really drive hundreds of miles for this? And why the hell were they going so fucking slow?!

“ _Jesus_ ,” Ronan snarled, tapping his brakes as the minivan slowed _again_. “Do they not know how to turn?! I mean, I know Florida’s flat as a pancake but shit! This is fucking ridiculous. And look at their stick figure family! Those stick figure kids are in the backseat watching Finding Nemo for Christ’s sake!” The minivan was barely moving forward and Ronan swallowed a scream of rage. He was _this_ close to pulling over and walking to their camping site.

Next to him Adam laughed and Ronan stole a glance to look at him. Adam had angled himself in his seat so that he was staring at _Ronan_ , not the panoramic views. Ronan looked away quickly, feeling the prick of nervous/excited sweat under his arms. Adam leaned over and squeezed his leg, making Ronan jump in surprise. Adam laughed again and _god_ it was a good sound.

“Hey babe, why don’t we stop at the next overlook? We can stretch, get something to drink, take some selfies.”

Ronan was hung up on _babe_ but he managed to mutter, “I’ll take _your_ selfie” like some petulant twelve year old trying to think of a clever comeback.

Adam looked so confused. “Uh, Ronan, that’s not how selfies work…”

They pulled off at the next overlook and Ronan squeezed the BMW into one few remaining parking spaces. Adam climbed out of the car and stretched, his shirt stuck to his back from sweat. It may have been a little cooler up in the mountains up it was still July 3rd and the heat was on. Adam wandered over to the sign marking the overlook as Hogswallow Flats. Ronan joined him, standing closer than was probably necessary. They looked out over the blue ridges of mountains and the green hills and valleys. It looked idyllic, like something from a fantasy novel. Ronan wondered if Ireland looked like this and turned to ask Adam what he thought only to discover that Adam had been sneakily taking pictures of him.

“Adam!” Ronan exclaimed, reaching for his phone. “C’mon, you gotta delete those, man! Seriously, Adam, Adam, don’t run from me…”

But Adam had taken off, playfully sprinting towards the trees at the end of the parking area. Ronan thought it was far too hot for running and there were way too many people but he charged after Adam anyway. He caught up to him at the tree line and went in for a tackle, sending both of them crashing onto the grass and sweet smelling clover. Adam was still trying to take pictures of Ronan, even pinned underneath him.

“What the hell?” Ronan asked, laughing into Adam’s shoulder.

“Oh! I just got a great picture of your left nostril!” Adam crowed, showing Ronan his phone. He was grinning like an imp, his body perfectly relaxed beneath Ronan’s.

Ronan snatched the phone and immediately started taking pictures of Adam. It wasn’t fair. His boyfriend looked good no matter what, but stretched out in the tall grass, his face dabbled with sunlight…Ronan set the phone aside and tried to commit Adam to memory. Adam stared back liked he was trying to do the same and the minute stretched out.

“Ow! Shit! Adam, something is fucking biting me! Jesus Christ!” Ronan jumped up and started slapping at his arms.

“Mosquitoes,” Adam observed as he stood up and brushed the grass off his clothes. “Don’t worry, I brought some homemade herbal repellent.”

Ronan followed Adam back to the car, the bites already spreading red blotches across his skin. “Herbal? Does that really work? You don’t have like Off! or something?”

Adam gave Ronan a scornful look. “Why would you want to spray all those chemicals on your skin? I swear—you probably don’t even eat organic.”

“Are Pop-Tarts organic?” Ronan asked, because he liked to be a little shit from time to time. Adam huffed in faux annoyance as he scrounged through his bag and pulled out a tin of ointment. It smelled lemony. Ronan spread it over his skin, surprised that it didn’t leave any weird stickiness like most lotions or sprays did. Adam took the tin back and grabbed a mason jar from the cooler in the backseat. The liquid inside was yellow-green with sprigs of mint floating around.

“Mint tea?” Ronan asked.

“Yep,” Adam replied, unscrewing the lid and taking a drink before passing it to Ronan. Ronan swallowed the cool, refreshing tea, marveling that Adam Parrish was so freaking competent. Was there any other teenage guy who would go to the trouble to make herbal mosquito repellent and earn an income crafting organic teas? Sometimes (most of the time) Adam seemed more like a magician than a regular human. Maybe he had little familiars lurking in his apartment, secretly and silently assisting him in his work.

“Did you know,” Adam was saying as he packed away his bag and got back in the car, “peppermint is one of the herbs that you can harvest from the mountains? There’s also sassafras, nettles, rose hips, even dandelion! Of course, there are berries, too. And flowers. Oh, and acorns! Don’t laugh; you can make tea _and_ coffee with acorns. Maura swears by mushroom tea but I’m still not convinced.”

Ronan got in the driver’s seat and steered them back onto the crowded parkway. Somehow he didn’t mind the traffic or the slow pace now. It was nice to listen to Adam talk. They talked about Adam’s job at the mechanic’s, about the volunteer hours he put in at a local farm in exchange for produce and herbs. Ronan tried to ask about Adam’s plans for the future but Adam evaded the question. Instead of answering he asked Ronan more about dreaming, about the Barns, about his brothers. Ronan wasn’t completely oblivious, he knew there were things that Adam did _not_ want to talk about, like his parents, but he wasn’t going to press him.

The miles slid by slowly but now the pace felt leisurely instead of annoying. They stopped at a couple of overlooks, and even got a nice couple to take their picture. It was after noon when they reached their destination: Big Meadows. According to Adam’s plan they would forage for the rest of the afternoon and then go to their campsite.

The lot at Big Meadows was full. Across the parkway was a restaurant, general store, and small museum. Adam explained that big Meadows had a large campground and a lodge, making it a popular stop.

“Why aren’t we camping there?” Ronan asked.

“All the spots were taken, believe it or not. Also, it’s not very, uh, private. I imagine that it’ll be kind of crazy this weekend, too. So, not the best place for a quiet, rustic campout,” Adam answered. “But don’t worry, our spot isn’t that far away. And it’s by a stream!”

Ronan liked the sound of that. Stream + private camping spot = skinny dipping! Maybe, possibly, hopefully.

Adam was rummaging in the cooler again and this time he brought out a container of vegetable wraps, as well as a couple apples and a bag of carrots. Ronan eyed the food suspiciously.

“Adam, you didn’t happen to bring any like chips, did you?”

“Uh, no,” Adam replied before taking an enormous bit of his wrap.

Ronan had no idea what was in his wrap. It looked like sprouts? And lots of green leafy things. He was regretting his decision to leave all the meal planning to Adam.

“Dude, just try it,” Adam prodded. “Trust me, it’s way better than whatever you typically eat for lunch.”

“Mac n cheese?” Ronan asked. “Unlikely.” He eyed the restaurant across the road with longing; he could smell burgers cooking. But he didn’t want to let Adam down so he dutifully tried the wrap. It was actually good, kind of sweet but spicy at the same time. Ronan quickly devoured the rest of it, giving Adam the finger because he was looking too damn smug.

After lunch Adam passed Ronan a pail for berries and a bag for herbs. Ronan looked out over the rolling meadows, the main pathways crowded with families, serious hikers, and couples. Off the path the meadows were empty, expanding out for what looked like miles.

Adam set off with confidence and Ronan followed after him. They left the trodden paths, plunging into the brush and high grass, the ground uneven, dipping perilously into hidden holes. Ronan tripped, pitching forward but Adam caught him before he fell.

“You okay?” Adam asked, still gripping Ronan’s elbow. Ronan nodded, mouth suddenly dry. “How about you let me guide you?” Adam’s hand slid down Ronan’s arm before grasping Ronan’s sweaty hand in his. Adam gave his hand a squeeze and set off again for the blueberry bushes.

The berries were _tiny_. Definitely not the size of berries you bought at the store. As Ronan methodically plucked them and dropped them in his pail he wondered if this was really worth the time and effort. Adam was humming quietly next to him, his fingers stained purple with juice. He felt Ronan watching and looked up and winked. Ronan ducked his head and went back to picking. He had barely filled the bottom of his pail and Adam was beating him.

It took hours to fill their berry pails and Ronan had a crick in his neck and he was feeling hot and tired and sunburned. Adam called for a break and they stretched out in beds of soft grass, listening to the chorus of songbirds and the distant croak of ravens. One flew over and Adam pointed it out, his voice in awe as the large black bird soared by. It reminded Ronan of Gansey’s quest for Glendower. They had hit some snags in their research and Gansey was frustrated. But now he had Blue to distract him so that was all right. Ronan felt himself drowsing when Adam spoke up.

“Do you ever think that magic could be real?” Adam asked. Ronan turned on his side so he could see Adam, so he could process the distant longing on his face.

“I suppose,” Ronan said. “I take things from dreams. Blue’s people see the future. Gansey finds things. If those things can be true then why not magic?”

Adam’s forehead scrunched in thought. “Sometimes I think I can feel it—magic—tugging at me. Maura says I have intuition, Persephone says I could possess the sight, and Calla…” his voice trailed off. “Calla doesn’t say nice things.”

“Shit, that’s the truth,” Ronan agreed. “I can’t believe you managed to live in that house with all those women.” Ronan shuddered.

Adam laughed quietly. “It wasn’t so bad. Other than having Orla hit on me every chance she got.” He sighed. “They’re good people, really good. They took me in without judging me, they taught me their craft. I learned the most random things. How to cook, for one. Orla helped me set up my website. Calla taught me self-defense. Blue taught me how to knit gloves and reuse everything. And I fixed their cars and did whatever odds jobs they wanted done. It was nice.” Adam looked wistful. “Anyways, they taught me about magic. They opened my eyes and ever since I feel like I can’t stop _seeing_.”

Ronan didn’t know what to say. He had been born a dreamer, yet it was still an ability that he was learning about. And as much as he loved his father, there were times when he felt resentful that he had never taught him control. He had learned control, ironically enough, from Kavinsky. Which was probably why he still struggled with it; his education had been erratic and would remain incomplete.

“Is there anything I can do?” Ronan asked.

“Hmm? Oh, no, not really,” Adam murmured. “It’s…it’s not a thing that can be helped. I see these _connections_ everywhere but I’m not sure what they mean or what I’m supposed to do. I think I’m waiting for something, maybe the ley line that Gansey was talking about, but once we find it maybe everything will snap into place.” Adam sighed again.

The sun was beating down and the drone of bugs was lulling Ronan. He wanted to curl up around Adam and sleep. They already had the berries surely the rest of their foraging could wait. Ronan rolled over to Adam, the grass tickling his bare arms. Adam turned to look at him, his eyes just as sleepy as Ronan’s.

“Nap time?” Ronan suggested, yawning hugely.

Adam yawned in response and nestled closer to Ronan. It was too warm for cuddling, but their knees pressed together, heads bent toward each other as sleep took over. Just before nodding off Ronan smiled, inwardly congratulating himself on taking his first nap with his boyfriend. Camping, he thought, wasn’t so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey...so this camping trip "arc" is taking forever! Please bear with me because there's a lot of stuff that's going to happen during the trip so it will probably take up the next several updates. (Also, random fact: I did a roadtrip last autumn and drove the entirety of Skyline Drive and the Blue Ridge Parkway and it was AMAZING. So please forgive me for being super self-indulgent about mountains and camping.)


	19. Chapter 19

Ronan felt something tickling his face, light barely there brushes of something soft. He felt too lethargic to open his eyes and tried to ignore it but the sensation persisted. As Ronan tried to figure out what was touching his face he became aware of other things, like the warm weight pressed against his side, the smell of herbs and dust, the quiet puffs of breath drifting over his skin. Ronan’s sleepy brain put it all together in an instant and suddenly he was wide-awake, his heart hammering because _Adam Parrish was sleeping on him!! Jesus Christ in a basket._ Ronan opened his eyes, straining to see past the light brown hair that was blocking his view and tickling his nose. His right arm was completely numb because Adam was lying on it, curled up against Ronan with his head pillowed on his chest. Sleeping Adam was without a doubt the most adorable thing Ronan had ever seen but wow, was he uncomfortable, and he had to pee.

Ronan shut his eyes again and tried to will himself back to sleep. But the more he tried to zone out the more he noticed the way the grass had worked its way under his shirt and was scratching his skin, or the crawling feeling of tiny _bugs_ traveling up his pants legs, or the persistent heat and brightness of the sun. Sleep was not happening. Ronan took one more indulgent look at Adam and then moved, with painful slowness, easing out from under Adam. Adam made a sleepy grumbling sound but didn’t wake up as he nestled into the grass. Ronan brushed a spider off Adam’s shoulder, cringing as the eight-legged creature tried to scurry up his hand; he flicked it away into the bushes, waving his hand about because _Ugh! Bugs!_ Ronan loved animals, and he loved the Barns, but he had never been a fan of the creepy crawlies.

Once he was satisfied that there weren’t any more insects on his person, Ronan scanned around for somewhere to piss. The surrounding bushes were all pretty low to the ground but Ronan spied a stand of trees not too far away. With one more look at Adam, who was curled up like a fawn in the bed of grass, Ronan headed off for the trees. He saw a snake on the way, and some mice, and made a mental note to make sure their tent was Secure As Fuck before going to sleep tonight. Ronan wasn’t sure if he would be able to sleep. For one, there was Adam, with him, in a tent, in the woods. For two, there was a host of woodland threats. For three, he had just had a very nice catnap and probably wouldn’t be tired for days.

The trees were farther away than Ronan had thought. By the time he reached them he was about to explode. Thankfully there were no hikers nearby so Ronan could relieve himself in relative privacy. Again he wondered _why_ Adam was so obsessed with camping. And the boy used to go camping by himself! How was that safe? Ronan trudged back to where he thought he had left Adam but now he wasn’t sure. It was impossible to get a good view of the landscape because it dipped down into so many hollows, and the bushes and rocks weren’t helping. Ronan wasn’t lost, he knew _generally_ where the car was but where was Adam? He couldn’t leave Adam alone, defenseless, fucking napping out here where anything could get him. _Shit_. He _had_ left Adam alone and defenseless in the middle of the wilderness. Ronan moved from a walk to a jog, his head swiveling, trying to catch a glimpse of something familiar.

“Adam?” Ronan finally called out, but his voice was swallowed up by miles of sprawling wilderness. “Adam?” He tried again, louder, panic edging in. Ronan spun in circles, waiting for a sign. His phone was in his pocket but there was no signal. He was alone, in the middle of a big ass meadow but it sure as shit didn’t _feel_ like a meadow, it felt like the forlorn reaches at the end of civilization. Ronan stumbled over something and landed on his knees. For a moment he just lay there because _Christ_ this was the third time in one day that he had accidentally fallen and at this rate he would be all bruised knees and elbows by the time they ever made it to their campsite, _if_ they made it there, _if_ he could find Adam. Ronan heaved a frustrated sigh and sat up. Which is when he discovered that he had tripped on a fucking deer skull.

Ronan shot to his feet, more alarmed than disgusted. This was it. The final straw. They were going to die alone, out here in the Shenandoah and no one would find them for years, not until they were desiccated skeletons long picked over by the ravens. Ronan shivered and looked about frantically.

“ADAM!” he yelled as loud as he could, ears straining for a reply, his heart pounding.

“OH MY GOD! WHAT?!” Adam shouted. He sounded closer than Ronan had expected.

“WHERE ARE YOU?”

“Ronan.” Adam’s head popped up from a tall, thick cluster of bushes, only about a hundred yards from where Ronan was standing. Ronan slumped in relief. “Why are you yelling? I was having the best dream…”

Ronan stalked forward, brushing dirt and leaves off his clothes. “I thought I lost you,” he mumbled.

Adam laughed, really laughed, bent over at the waist, clutching his knees. Ronan was not amused.

“I’m serious, man. I went to go pee and then I couldn’t find my way back! I could have wandered off to fucking West Virginia and you would have been all lost and alone.”

“Ronan,” Adam stood, wiping his eyes, “bless you, but _I_ would not be lost. I know exactly where I am and where the car is.”

“Whatever,” Ronan sulked. He grabbed some berries off one of the bushes and ate them.

“Hey.” Adam reached for him, grabbing his wrist and tugging until Ronan looked at him. “I would have been _very_ worried if I had woken up and you were missing. So it’s a good thing you were yelling for me.” Ronan shrugged but he did feel better. Though he still hated looking so incompetent in front of Adam, the most capable boy in the world. “You know,” Adam continued, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “I really, _really_ liked hearing you scream my name.”

Ronan stared at him for a good five second before his face went red. “Oh. My. God. Adam, _shut up_.” Ronan buried his face in his hands and Adam laughed, wrapping his arms around Ronan’s waist and squeezing. _Fuck._

Adam gave Ronan a sloppy kiss on the chin and then skipped away, grinning. Ronan watched him go, shaking his head slowly. _This boy_.

“C’mon, Ronan,” Adam teased, “don’t get all shy on me.”

“I’m not shy,” Ronan grumbled, “I’m _surprised_. You always say things that I never expect.”

Adam gathered their berry pails and passed one to Ronan. “I like you,” he said. “And I like teasing you. I like watching you blush and get flustered. Like right now.” He poked Ronan’s pink cheeks. “Or maybe that’s sunburn? Did you put on sunscreen?”

“Please,” Ronan scoffed. “I can handle the sun.”

“Clearly not. Let’s go. We need to get your paleness out of the light.”

Ronan followed Adam as he picked a path out of the meadow. It was amazing how Adam found his way so easily; never pausing to consider whatever invisible trail he was following. Was this the intuition he had mentioned? Or was he just that in tune with nature? Ronan felt foolish for panicking earlier, for immediately slipping into worst-case scenario mode. He hadn’t always been like this. There was a time when he wasn’t afraid and, after that, a time when he didn’t care enough to be afraid. Adam had brought joy back into his life, as cheesy as it sounded, but Adam also brought fear. What if he lost Adam? What if he scared him away? His heart ached, watching Adam walk in front of him, watching the way he moved, the way he navigated the world. Adam was a wonder; Ronan didn’t deserve him.

They were back at the car in less than ten minutes. Ronan was still amazed; it had really felt like they were farther away from civilization. Adam packed up the berries and told him that they could gather herbs tomorrow. For now the plan was to head to their campsite and chill. That sounded perfect to Ronan.

The parking area for Dark Hollow Falls was less than a mile from Big Meadows. There were fewer cars and Adam explained that most campers were probably heading to the commercial campsites.

“We should have our spot all to ourselves,” Adam said as he got their packs out. “Wilderness camping isn’t something that most people go for.”

Ronan nodded. He wasn’t sure if _he_ was going to be a fan of wilderness camping but for Adam he would try it. He shouldered his pack, grunting at the weight. Adam helped tied his sleeping bag to the pack and then handed him the tent bag which could be carried like a messenger bag. Adam had his own pack and a cold bag of food supplies, which he transferred to a large shoulder bag. They locked up the car and set off.

Adam was full of useful knowledge, telling Ronan about the different types of trees and plants they passed, and whether they could be used for teas or medicine. The trail soon became difficult and they had to focus on their footing, especially with the heavy packs throwing off their balance. They passed a few hikers who were on their way out and exchanged friendly greetings. Adam chatted easily with the strangers, trail talk about how pretty the falls were, etc. Ronan shifted uneasily and tried not to glare too much. They were going downhill, the steep decline pulling at Ronan’s shins. He could hear the distant roar of the falls and felt excited despite everything. He hadn’t been to a waterfall since…he couldn’t remember. Maybe in his dreams?

“We’re nearly to the falls!” Adam called over his shoulder, speeding up even though the trail was dipping down at a steeper angle. Ronan hurried after him, sliding on the gravel that covered the trail. The trail detoured at raised wooden platforms that offered a view of the falls. There were _lots_ of hikers and families. Ronan wondered if Adam had been joking about this place being secluded. Adam bypassed the platforms and continued downhill. They scrambled over rocks and boulders, dodging around _more_ people. Adam pulled Ronan over to stream and they looked up at the cascading falls, the stream branching off in several directions, sending the water shooting down until it crashing onto the rocks.

“Isn’t this great?!” Adam asked, hooking his arm around Ronan’s waist. He was smiling widely, admiring the waterfall. Ronan nodded, speechless. He glanced around at all the other people but they looked like they were more interested in taking pictures of the falls than paying attention to them.

“Let’s get a picture,” Adam suggested. He flagged down a mom and asked her to take it. The woman smiled and motioned for them to stand close together. She took several pictures and handed the camera back to Adam, wishing them a safe and fun trip. Adam thanked her and slipped the camera into his pocket before Ronan could try to delete the pictures.

“Don’t worry,” Adam whispered to him. “Where we’ll be camping there won’t be a crowd. All of these people will clear out as soon as it gets closer to sunset.” He set his pack down and Ronan did the same. They poked around the falls, Ronan climbing up as far as he could while Adam shouted suggestions for footholds and handholds. They played a game to see who could walk down the stream by jumping from one rock to the next. Adam won, of course. They were sweaty and Ronan’s boots were soaked by the time Adam suggested that they move on.

The trail continued, following the stream, and before long they were alone, the only sounds the crunch of their boots in the undergrowth, the sighing of the wind rushing through the trees, and the call and response of the birds. They were truly heading off into the forest and yet, for the first time on the trip, Ronan was starting to feel relaxed. The large trees reminded him of his dream forest and he could almost imagine that he heard voices in the wind, whispering to him. He and Adam didn’t speak but it wasn’t awkward; Ronan supposed this was what people referred to as “companionable silence,” this quiet appreciation of being together and sharing a unique experience. They hiked for about thirty minutes until they reached an area of the stream that formed a natural pool.

“Check it out,” Adam said, pointing to a spot beside the trail that was flattened out, perfect for camping. Someone had even left a circle of stones to serve as a fire pit. Adam put his pack down and stretched, his joints popping loudly. Ronan did the same. Taking off the heavy pack was a relief. His shoulders were burning, his calf muscles, too. Adam pulled a water bottle out of the cold bag and drank about half of it before passing it to Ronan. Ronan plopped down on the strategically positioned log that bordered the campsite and finished off the water while Adam set about preparing the site. First he produced a collapsible broom from his pack and started clearing the spot where their tent would be. Ronan offered to help but Adam said he had it and sent Ronan to collect firewood. “Nothing wet, it has to be dry enough to burn.”

Ronan stomped through the trees, picking up large branches that had fallen and dragging them back to the camp. While he was busy making trips for firewood Adam set up the tent. Obviously he was pro-level because he got it done completely solo and in about five minutes. Ronan was Very Impressed. By the time Ronan had a sizeable stack of wood for the fire Adam had unpacked and set out everything they would need to make dinner. He helped Ronan break the branches and sticks into manageable pieces and then they hunted around for things to use for kindling.

“What next?” Ronan asked. It seemed unreal that it took this much effort just to setup a place to sleep and prepare food.

“How about a swim?” Adam suggested. They were both grimy and sweaty; the forest was cooler than the meadow but it was still hot. Adam didn’t wait for Ronan to reply, but started kicking off his boots and socks. He walked down to the stream, peeling off his shirt as he went. Ronan felt his heart freeze in his chest. It wasn’t just that Adam was shirtless in front of him; it was what was on Adam’s back that made him feel like his blood had been turned to ice. Ronan moved quickly, his hand coming down hard on Adam’s shoulder, startling him. Adam jerked away, an ingrained reaction that made Ronan stop, his eyes fixed on the scars and burns on Adam’s back.

“Adam.” Ronan couldn’t breathe. Looking at those scars he felt furious and he felt like he wanted to cry. He blinked back the tears that were already queuing up.

Adam reached back, his hands resting protectively on his back as far as he could reach. He didn’t look at Ronan. Adam held himself for a moment, breathing deeply, his eyes fixed on the stream. Finally he moved, walking towards the water. At the edge of the pool he tugged his pants off and stepped into the water, wading out until it was lapping against his thighs. Still he didn’t look at Ronan.

“The first time I came here,” Adam said, his voice calm and steady but empty, “I had run away from home for the first time.” He turned and met Ronan’s eyes. He looked so vulnerable, standing alone in the water, his scarred skin on display. Ronan didn’t know what to do or say; he knew what he wanted to do, which was kill whoever had hurt Adam, but that was not what Adam needed right then.

Adam trailed his fingers through the water and glanced up at Ronan, extended a hand to him.

“Come on,” Adam said softly, “let me tell you a story.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The camping trip continues! The next two updates will most likely still be camping. Who knows, the boys might just say "eff society" and stay in the woods forever. (Unlikely). FYI, the camping and hiking information is based on my own experiences though I did not actually hike the Dark Hollow Falls trail, but I have hiked Big Meadows and camped there.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: This update is mostly about Adam's past and abusive family so it's pretty heavy. :,(

“My parents have never loved me.” Adam said it like it was an indisputable fact, the earth orbits the sun, the moon controls the tides; he had never known a mother’s love or a father’s approval. Just six words to sum up a lifetime of emotional desolation. Ronan couldn’t fathom it. How could a parent close off their heart to their only child? How could anyone be blind to how amazing Adam was?

Ronan was still struggling out of his jeans as Adam waded deeper into the river, until the water reached his chest. Even from where he was standing Ronan could see that Adam was shivering but that didn’t stop him from plunging into the depths. He was a tangle of limbs undulating under the clear, rippling surface. For a moment Ronan panicked; it reminded him too much of his nightmares, the memory of drowning, again and again. He rushed in after Adam, heart hammering from the shock of icy water. _Fuck_. How could the water be so cold in the middle of summer?

Adam bobbed to the surface, tossing his head back before using both hands to push his bedraggled hair off his forehead. He was stunning. And if Ronan hadn’t been transformed into 90% icicle he might have embarrassed himself.

“Jesus, Adam,” Ronan stuttered, teeth chattering as he crossed his arms over his chest and hunkered down. Not that it helped; he was waist deep in frigid water. He hated that Adam wanted to have this talk here, now; he could scarcely concentrate because it was so god damned cold and Adam was mostly naked.

Adam turned and again Ronan was presented with the ravaged skin of his back. Ronan moved closer, going slowly, making sure Adam could see him approach in his peripheral vision. They were heading into deep water, figuratively, literally. Ronan’s foot slipped on the slick, smooth stones at the bottom of the river and he went under, accidentally inhaling on the way down.

The cold was like a vise squeezing his chest and head. Ronan felt it in every part of him, felt the weight of the water settling in. He fought his way back to the surface, gasping and coughing and…Adam was there, pulling him up, a hand on his back.

“Ronan, Ronan, are you okay?” Adam’s eyes were wide, his pupils dark. _Was it fear or something else?_

Ronan coughed a few more times and spat out some of the water he had inadvertently swallowed.

“I’m good.” Adam was still touching him, standing so close he may as well have been standing _on_ Ronan’s unsteady feet. Ronan’s hands were shaking as he reached out and placed them on Adam’s shoulders and asked, “Can I see?”

Adam nodded once, the flashing, lively look in his eyes going dull and flat. Ronan wondered if that was how he looked whenever he thought of his father, dead, or of Kavinsky. Adam turned around and Ronan slid his hands across Adam’s broad shoulders and upper back. The scars were thin, running in slashes from the top of Adam’s shoulders to his lower back. Ronan counted five. He skimmed the surface of the scars with his fingertips, tracing the band of thick scar tissue. Adam sucked in a breath and shivered, his arms crossed over his chest, his hands gripping his upper arms hard enough that Ronan was worried he would bruise himself.

“It…it takes a lot of force to make a scar like that,” Adam said, his voice hoarse. “I put up with so much, so much _shit_ but after that night I left. I thought…I thought maybe he would kill me. And my mother never did a thing to stop him. Like it was my fault. She said that once. That she never wanted me. That she was miserable and it was _all my fault_. I was just a kid…” Adam stopped talking and shook his head.

Ronan felt Adam’s sorrow, like it was a stone that had been dropped into his core; he felt it in the pang that tugged at his heart until he worried that it would break. There wasn’t anything he could say that would make it better, nothing he could do that would fix Adam’s broken childhood or mend his scarred back.

“Adam,” Ronan said and hugged him, pressing against Adam’s back, his arms wrapped around Adam’s arms, his forehead resting on Adam’s shoulder. “Adam.”

 _His heart was breaking_.

Adam relaxed, little by little, though he still shivered. “I was so afraid,” Adam whispered. “I should have reported him, gone to the police but I was scared of what he would do when he found out. I wasn’t thinking straight. My back…it was…it was so bad, Ronan. And I didn’t know what to do. He left me…in the shop behind the trailer. I passed out. When I came to it was the middle of the night so I snuck in, threw some stuff in my backpack and I left.” Ronan rubbed his palms over Adam’s arms as he talked, trying to convey comfort, trying to ease the stress that still had Adam shaking. “I should have gone to the hospital, gotten stitches but I was a mess. I don’t know how I even got here…”

“What?” Ronan’s head jerked up. He needed to see Adam’s face but Adam wouldn’t budge. “How…how is that possible?”

Adam sighed. “I don’t know. How is your dream thing possible? I must have hitchhiked but I don’t remember. It’s like, do you ever zone out when you’re driving? Like you get behind the wheel and the next thing you know you’re at your destination but you can’t remember driving there?” Ronan _did_ know. He felt a surge of physical discomfort, the old memories creeping in. The lost days of blindly flinging himself into the worst situations just so he could forget. “Anyways,” Adam continued, “it was like that. I spent days here, by this river. _Right here_.” Adam unfolded his arms and rested the palms of his hands on the trembling water.

“What did you eat? Christ, did you have a tent or anything?” Ronan demanded.

“Ha. No. I slept beneath the stars and I ate what I could find. It was…” Adam trailed his fingers through the water, making random designs. Now that he wasn’t talking about his parents, about his home, he was calmer, more relaxed, easing back into competent, at-one-with-nature mode. “It was like a dream. Time didn’t matter. It didn’t matter whether I ate or not, I just sort of existed.” Adam laughed. “I was probably going out of my mind from hunger and pain but I don’t remember it like that. I drifted…and then I went back.”

Adam pushed away from Ronan and kicked back into the center of the pool, moving his arms and treading water to keep afloat. Ronan gave him space and tried to float. Tried and failed. He remembered hearing somewhere that you needed body fat to float and he didn’t seem to have enough because he kept sinking. Adam was watching him with an amused expression.

“When did you move out for real?” Ronan asked.

“After that? A week later. I lived with Blue’s family for almost a month until I was able to move into the apartment above St. Agnes. I haven’t seen or talked to my parents since I left.” Adam gazed up at the trees, his face dappled with sunlight and shadow. Again Ronan felt the surprise of seeing so much of Adam, of watching how he moved, weightless, in the water.

“They haven’t tried to track you down?”

Adam shook his head, eyes closed. “They never wanted me. _Never_ , Ronan. The burns are from my dad’s cigarettes, from when I was a kid and couldn’t run away and didn’t know any better. I’m talking about _years_ of beatings and bruises. I had my arm pulled out of its socket twice before my dad figured out how he could set it back without having to take me to the emergency room.” Adam sighed deeply, his voice quiet. “It was always _an accident_. I was clumsy. I fell down. The same cliché excuses that no one believed but never had the courage to object to.” He shrugged, as if it was too much to express. “My parents are happy, I’m sure, to be rid of me.”

Adam lapsed into silence and Ronan let him be. He was trying to process it all, this devastating truth of Adam’s past. He had known, to some extent, that it was going to be bad but he had never imagined that it would be like this. How was it possible that Adam could come from _that_ and yet be this strong, confident person? The marks of abuse were clear on Adam’s skin but where were they on his psyche? Ever since they had met Ronan felt like Adam had been bolstering him, patching him up when he had panic attacks, soothing the pains of nightmares and bad memories. What had he ever given Adam that could compare?

Eventually Adam had had enough of freezing and got out of the river; Ronan immediately followed him. He didn’t think he would ever be warm again. _Jesus Christ his feet were blue!_ Adam tossed him a towel because of course Adam was practical enough to remember towels. Ronan pressed the soft cloth to his face and inhaled that peculiar herbal scent that clung to anything that belonged to Adam. When he looked up he saw that Adam was staring at him with an intensity that made Ronan blush (the circulatory system was back in business!). Ronan quickly dried off while Adam ducked into the tent to change; he came out wearing his holey Coca-Cola T-shirt and loose basketball shorts. Ronan’s heart did all sorts of things that felt dangerous. _Honestly_. He took his time changing, his hands fumbling as he pulled on a clean pair of jeans and another black muscle tee. He was standing in the tent, well, more like bent over in the tent, and he was _trembling_. Ronan didn’t know if it was the lingering cold, the shock of Adam’s confession, seeing Adam mostly undressed, or a heady combination of all three. Ronan was losing his shit. It was the opposite of cool; it was most definitely the opposite of what Adam needed. _Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck_. Ronan clenched his hands into fists and huffed out a hard exhale. He needed to get it together.

Ronan ducked out of the tent, intending to do _something_ , to say _something_ , to communicate to Adam that he would do anything, anything at all to help, to be there for him. His good intentions ran straight into the wall of lean muscle and bone that was Adam’s chest. Ronan stumbled back with a quiet _oof!_ Adam grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him back, the shift in momentum sending them crashing together. Adam’s mouth was on Ronan’s before he had time to apologize or ask if Adam was okay. Ronan flailed for a moment, teetering between falling forwards or backwards, but Adam held onto him, kissing him with enough force that Ronan’s lips hurt. It felt like desperation. Ronan brought his hands up to cup Adam’s face, gently moving him back, breaking the kiss. Adam gasped harshly and Ronan saw a flash of something feral in his eyes.

“Hey, Adam, Adam,” Ronan murmured, his fingers working their way into Adam’s wet hair, “are you okay?”

Adam shook his head, flinging droplets of water that fell on his shoulders and against Ronan’s face.

“Let’s sit down, okay?” Ronan guided Adam to the log next to the fire pit. They sat down side by side and Ronan wrapped his arms around Adam, one hand rubbing his back in circular motions. He could feel the scars beneath the thin fabric of the shirt and wondered how he hadn’t noticed them before. Adam leaned forward and pressed his face into his hands. It took Ronan a few moments to realize that Adam was crying.

“S-sorry,” Adam mumbled, his voice strained. “Sorry…I, I hate talking about them. Or remembering what it was like.” He took a shuddering breath and Ronan hugged him tighter. “Sometimes,” he admitted, his voice a whisper, “I pretend it happened to someone else, a different Adam. It’s easier…”

Ronan felt a stinging sensation in his nose and at the corners of his eyes; suddenly swallowing was painful due to the lump that was forming in his throat. Even breathing hurt. _Why did everything hurt so much?_ Ronan buried his face in Adam’s damp hair. He remembered what Adam had told him, after his own breakdown, when they were huddled together on the floor of Adam’s apartment.

“It’s not your fault,” Ronan repeated. “And it doesn’t make you less, Adam. You are the most amazing person I’ve ever met. You’re incredible.”  Adam leaned into him, wiping his face with his T-shirt. “I have to say, though, that if I ever meet your parents it’s gonna be fucking violent.”

Adam snorted. Ronan kissed the top of his head, his shoulder, his cheek. “I’m serious, man.” Then, softer. “I’m serious. Adam. Whatever you need, or want. I’m here. God knows I’m not perfect but—”

“I don’t need perfect,” Adam cut him off. He stared into Ronan’s eyes. That spark was back _finally_. “I have no use for perfection. I just want you.”

“Oh.” Ronan felt like he was floating.

“And a cup of tea,” Adam added, grinning playfully. “I don’t know about you but I feel like someone stuck me in a cryogenic freezer.”

Ronan laughed. “Fuck, yes! I mean, the great outdoors are awesome but Adam, really, that ice bath was uncalled for.”

Adam elbowed Ronan in the ribs and got to his feet, stretching in a way that was completely for show. Ronan did not mind. Adam rummaged in his food bag and started pulling out everything he needed to brew tea: portable kerosene stove, kettle, mugs, filtered water, tins of tea, a _teapot_. Ronan was impressed and dismayed by how much stuff Adam had squirreled away. While the water in the kettle boiled Adam talked.

“I needed to tell you what happened but I also needed to _show_ you and for some reason I thought this place and this way was the best, you know? I wasn’t expecting the river to be quite so cold, though. Still, it did help. It was distracting enough that I could tell you without getting totally caught up in the past.” Adam sighed and shook it off. “I’m sorry for making you suffer through it.”

Ronan playfully shoved Adam’s shoulder. “Nothing to apologize for. It was…er, bracing.”

“You’re so full of it,” Adam grinned. He poured the water into the teapot and waited for it to brew. Ronan sniffed at the tea.

“What are we drinking?”

“Hot cinnamon,” Adam answered, beaming. “Cause I know you like it spicy.”

“Oh. My. God.” Ronan shoved his hands over his face to hide his ridiculous smile and hectic blush.

Adam smiled unrepentantly and handed him a steaming mug of tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings! PART 20. Good Lord I never thought this little au would become a novella?? Looking ahead: next update I swear will be happy. Nothing but happy camping experiences, hint: two full grown guys trying to fit in a one person tent. If you’re still keeping up with this craziness THANK YOU!! Please feel free to message me!


	21. Chapter 21

Ronan was convinced that God was testing him. He was being tested. This entire camping experience, but particularly this moment, was a test of self-control. When Adam had told him _“I only want you”_ Ronan was absolutely ready to do whatever Adam wanted. 100% down for Anything. And then Adam started making _tea_. Not that the tea wasn’t wonderful, but that’s not what Ronan had been expecting. They sat on the log sipping tea, Adam leaning against his shoulder and that had been nice but, _but_ …it wasn’t what Ronan had been expecting.

Adam was now preparing dinner, digging out small containers full of chopped vegetables, seasoning, tortillas, sauces, and more. Ronan still could not believe that Adam had managed to fit all of this food and cooking utensils into his food bag. It defied the laws of nature. While Adam got busy cooking Ronan started working on the fire. He wasn’t a pyromaniac by nature but he had spent too much time around someone who was so he knew what he was doing as he layered logs and kindling. He worked steadily, feeding twigs and pinecones into the fire until the larger pieces of wood caught. His face was warm from the flames and his hands were hot and smudged with soot and dirt, his arms glazed with a light sheen of sweat. Ronan shifted a log and examined his dirty hands and arms before wiping sweat from his forehead with the bottom of his shirt. When he looked up Adam was watching him.

Adam didn’t look away but let his gaze linger on Ronan, traveling slowly from his face down and back up again. It took every bit of restraint that Ronan possessed to not turn away or look down, to fidget; he withstood Adam’s appraisal and returned the assessment, enjoying the way Adam was crouched down next to the camp stove, his body poised on the balls of his feet like he might explode into action at a moment’s notice. Adam had a stillness and intensity that took Ronan by surprise; he was used to the buoyant, flirty Adam who geeked out about tea and teased him. _This Adam_ had his heart pounding and everything inside him twisting. _Unsettling but damn sexy._

 Something in the frying pan popped loudly and Adam went back to cooking and Ronan went back to breathing. He kicked at one of the logs and wandered down to the stream to wash up. The icy water was refreshing and shook him out of his overwhelming preoccupation with Adam, well, at least a bit if not entirely. It was getting dark; bats were flitting through the branches and the steady drone of insects had increased. _He was in the woods_. The wilderness seemed to press in with the dusk, the trees’ dark shadows swallowing the light. Ronan turned back to the campsite, shivering. He might have an entire dream forest in his mind but this was not it, this was wild, unfiltered nature and it made Ronan uneasy.

Adam had finished cooking and was busily plating the food because _of course_ he had brought plates; he had even brought cloth napkins—not even Gansey bothered with cloth napkins.

“That smells good,” Ronan commented, leaning over Adam’s shoulder to examine their dinner. While it did smell good Ronan was again disappointed by the abundance of vegetables and the lack of meat. Adam turned his head to the side and gave Ronan a quick peck on the cheek before handing him a plate.

“This is a special 300 Fox Way recipe that I learned from Jimi. Basically it’s like vegetarian fajitas. But the trick is in the seasoning, which Jimi kindly shared with me.” Adam spooned some of the vegetables into the warm tortilla, rolled it up, and took a bite. Some of the juice from the fajita dribbled down his chin and Adam quickly ate the rest of the tortilla. Ronan reached over and wiped the sauce off Adam’s face, grinning because watching Adam eat was fucking cute. For all his poise Adam sometimes ate like a starving five year old.

“Messy,” Adam muttered, wiping his hands off on his napkin.

Ronan shrugged and dug into his food. It was hot, hot, hot, burning his lips and tongue, the spices adding an extra kick to the heat. Ronan tried to chew but was forced to open his mouth, waving ineffectually to cool down the food. Adam had the nerve to laugh! Ronan finally managed to chew and swallow, tears forming in the corners of his eyes because it was so spicy. But he wasn’t going to be defeated. Even with tears streaming down his face and his nose running Ronan put away four tortillas and drank half a galloon of water.

“Well?” Adam asked. He was smiling in that sly, provocative way that meant he was scheming.

“Very spicy, Parrish. Thanks for the warning,” Ronan snarked.

Adam passed him a mug of chilled mint tea. “Hmm. Living with the psychics kind of killed my taste buds; I have to have really spicy, flavorful food or it just tastes like nothing.”

Ronan nodded thoughtfully. “You know, this is the first time someone’s cooked for me since I lived at home.” Adam’s expression immediately sobered, took on that concerned, empathetic look. “It was really nice, Adam. Thank you.”

Adam actually blushed. “Yeah?” his voice was soft, barely audible over the crackle of the fire.

“Yeah.” Ronan drank some tea and felt the mood around them shifting, becoming closer, warmer. Adam was sitting near the stove, across from Ronan. It felt too far away. Ronan set his tea on the ground and leaned back on the log, his hands braced on the rough bark. He wished that his thoughts could get to Adam directly, that he didn’t have to speak, to break the taut, quiet vibe thrumming between them. But Adam wasn’t a mind reader and they weren’t telepathic so, “Adam, c’mere.” Ronan held out a hand and Adam came.

It felt like a miracle, Adam in his arms, straddling his hips, his strong, lean arms wrapped around Ronan’s neck, his mouth pressed against Ronan’s. Adam was warm against his chest, the night air cold against his back. Ronan’s hands slipped beneath Adam’s shirt, carefully moving over his back. The scars felt vivid now that he knew they were there, now that he had seen them. Adam made a quiet growling sound, nipping at Ronan’s lip and _that_ was surprising. Ronan pulled back, tried to yank his hands away from Adam’s skin but Adam caught his forearms, keeping them pinned in place.

“I’m not fragile,” Adam said, his face serious, almost looking pissed.

“Yeah, but—” Ronan tried to explain but Adam cut him off.

“I’m fine, Ronan.” His eyes were intense. “I. Am. Fine. Don’t treat me like some fine china teacup. I’m not that breakable.”

Ronan swallowed, his eyes cutting away. He _knew_ that, he really did. But the scars changed things, didn’t they? The truth changed things. Ronan wasn’t sure if he was programmed for gentleness, but god he was trying. He was trying so hard and Adam was saying he didn’t want that?

Adam placed a hand on Ronan’s cheek, guided him back so they were again looking at each other. “What I’m saying,” Adam started, a fierce blush rising on his face, “is if you uh get the urge to scratch up my back then, um, go for it.”

Ronan was pretty sure he was going to die. He took one look at Adam’s flushed face and groaned, burying his face in Adam’s neck, his shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter.

“Hey!” Adam punched at his shoulder. “Stop laughing! That was really, really embarrassing to say!”

Ronan couldn’t help it. He laughed out loud, his arms around Adam’s waist, pulling him in even closer.

“I know, I know,” Ronan snorted. “I feel embarrassed by association.”

“Oh! F…frack you!” Adam spluttered.

“Frack me? Is this an episode of BSG? Because ‘frack’ does not count as dirty talk, Parrish.”

Adam scowled and it was a look worthy of Ronan. Ronan grinned fondly at the pissed off tea boy who was, despite everything, still clinging to Ronan.

“Did I ruin the mood?” Ronan teased.

“Yes! Yes, you did,” Adam pouted.

“Sorry,” Ronan said, the laughter in his tone belying any sincerity. He kissed Adam’s jaw, whispered in his ear, “I’m sorry. Let me try and fix it.”

Then they were kissing again. Ronan tried to keep it slow, soft. Adam’s words _scratching up my back_ kept circling in his mind but he didn’t think they were there yet. And he liked this: sweet, simple, and god so uncomplicated.

Adam’s mouth was warm and he tasted like mint tea and spices. His long, slim fingers brushed against Ronan’s shaved scalp, scratching lightly at the stubble. He wrapped one long leg around Ronan’s back and it was like someone had lit a charge in Ronan’s chest, explosions of want and desire and undiluted happiness. He couldn’t stifle the quiet moan that slipped from his mouth to Adam’s. Adam smiled, the curve of his lips against Ronan’s felt like all the good things Ronan had been missing.

“I like this,” Adam murmured, his voice husky, the twang of his accent making each word sound like it was being spoken in a new language. Adam tugged at the bottom of Ronan’s shirt; he pushed it up, over Ronan’s stomach and trembling abdomen, past his chest. Ronan lifted his arms and allowed Adam to pull off his shirt. He couldn’t breath. Adam’s hands were touching him, gliding over skin and muscle. His fingers lingered over Ronan’s chest hair and it was kind of weird but really nice at the same time. Adam’s single-minded attention was blowing his mind.

Ronan didn’t know what to do with his hands, with his body. _Adam_ was sitting on his lap, _Adam_ was touching him, kissing him. He didn’t want to move, to make a sound, to do anything that would wreck this moment. So he kept his hands braced on Adam’s thighs, feeling the shift in his muscles. And _god_ Adam was wearing fucking basketball shorts so he could feel _everything_ , no secrets between them on that front. Adam was trailing kisses over Ronan’s shoulders while his hand drew aimless patterns on Ronan’s sides and stomach and back. Ronan shifted minutely, sending Adam sliding across his lap. They both hissed at the same time, surprised.

“Ronan,” Adam looked so damn sexy, eyes heavy lidded and dark. “I really like you. So much.”

Ronan gave up on keeping still. Clearly Adam wasn’t going to frightened off. He held Adam’s face in his hands and kissed him, once, twice, three times. Each time he thought “ _I like you. Oh god, I think I love you.”_ His hands were in Adam’s hair, then they were under Adam’s shirt, moments later the shirt was off, landing on the ground next to Ronan’s. Ronan pressed his lips to Adam’s chest, right over his heart, feeling the way Adam’s heart was pounding, its pace equal to his own.

Everything was so hushed around them: the popping of the fire, the murmur of the stream, the distant calls of wildlife. It made Ronan want to be quiet, whispering directly into Adam’s ear, feeling the small shudders that wracked his body. So Ronan said all the things he had been thinking while he spent the endless hours awake at Monmouth. He told Adam about his dreams, about his wants. He told Adam everything that was wonderful and holy and magical about him. Adam’s fingers dug into his back, into the dark, jagged lines of his tattoo.

“Ronan…” Adam’s voice was ragged, like Ronan’s, torn and wanting. The friction between them heightened, Adam rocking forward, his heels pressing into Ronan’s back. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” Ronan panted, his mouth wisely censoring his inner monologue which ran more along the lines of _“fuck yes this is okay. Jesus Christ don’t ever stop…”_ This was not how he thought the night would go; he had never hoped that this would happen though Lord knew he had dreamed about it often enough.

Adam’s breath was loud in Ronan’s ear, his whole body so intent on what he was doing. Ronan held onto his hips, kissed the side of his neck, told him how good he was. Afterwards, Ronan kept Adam cradled to his chest, stroking his back. Adam hid his face against Ronan’s neck, his breath gradually slowing as he came down. And Ronan wished, wished with everything in him, that this had been his first time, too. He wished that he could have given all of his firsts to Adam. But that was impossible. At the very least Adam was getting all of his emotional firsts: love, admiration, contentment, happiness, bliss—lots of words and feelings and they all belonged to Adam Parrish.

The fire was dying when they finally stumbled into the tent. The sleeping bags were reconfigured into one big sleeping bag that barely fit in the tent. They were quiet, laughing a little as they tried to rearrange the space, fumbling into clean clothes. It was surprisingly chilly and Ronan was happy to nestle into the warm sleeping bags. He and Adam shared a pillow, their bodies canted towards each other. Adam left a small battery powered lamp on; Ronan decided he should try to dream them a better light, something softer.

Ronan took Adam’s hand and brought it to his lips, kissing his palm, his wrist, his scarred knuckles. Adam whispered to him about random things, good memories, the things he liked about Ronan. Ronan listened, holding Adam’s hands in his, quietly delighted by this intimacy.

Finally Adam couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. He snuggled in close to Ronan, his head resting on Ronan’s arm. “Sweet dreams,” Ronan murmured. He held Adam and listened to the sound of the wind blowing through the trees. His heart was full; he was never sleeping again.


	22. Chapter 22

It was the fourth of July.

Ronan woke with a start, his heart thumping painfully. For several panicked, confused moments he didn’t know where he was or who he was with. The tent was _glowing_ , a muted neon rainbow of lights. Ronan rubbed his eyes and sat up. Glow sticks were scattered around the tent, their light pulsing in time with his heartbeat.

A muffled sigh distracted Ronan from the lights and drew his attention to Adam. Adam was curled on his side, only his head peeking out of the sleeping bags. His hair was sticking up every which way and his cheeks were flushed, probably because it felt like a fucking volcano in the sleeping bags. Ronan stealthily climbed out of the sleeping bags and rearranged himself on top of them. He had shed most of his clothes during the night and was only wearing his boxers. The cool air of the tent felt good on his overheated skin.

Ronan grabbed one of the glow sticks, holding it up in front of his face. It didn’t seem all that different from a regular glow stick. He shook it up, watching the colors shift from purple to indigo to lavender. He closed his eyes and tried to call up the dream that the glow sticks had come from…

 _Music drifting over the fields. The wailing of fiddles and pipes, the steady beat of a drum. Figures dancing around a bonfire but Ronan walked away from them. He walked into the forest, following a barely there path. White stones marked the way, glinting in the faint moonlight. Near the stream was a girl—_ his girl _. She dug her small hands into the mud at the bank._ “Kerah.” _She called to him. Ronan knelt down beside her, their hands scrambling in the pungent mud. Ronan felt the squish of it between his fingers._ “What are you looking for?” _He asked. The Orphan Girl smiled and whispered in his ear_ , “Lux.” _They kept digging and the darkness seemed to constrict around them. Ronan heard whispers, the trees sharing secrets. The hole felt impossibly deep. He and the girl were covered in mud up to their shoulders and then—_ lux. _An impossible rainbow of lights nestled in the earth—slender, luminous plastic sticks. Ronan laughed and the Orphan Girl joined in. They pulled the glow sticks out of the ground. Their grubby hands didn’t leave dirt on the sticks. The girl tried to eat one but Ronan stopped her._ “These are for Adam.” _He said. The girl cocked her head to the side, birdlike._ “Adam?” _Ronan nodded, piling the glow sticks into his shirt. In the forest something began to howl. The girl jumped to her feet, Ronan following. It was a dark, tortured noise, more mechanical than animal. Fear and hurt and memory assailed Ronan. The girl turned her wide eyes upon him, shoving him away._ “Kerah!” _The trees were hissing, Ronan’s brain translating their command:_ “Wake up, wake up. Greywaren. Wake up.”

Ronan was awake. He held the glow stick to his chest. Now that he was conscious he could place the sound he had heard in the dream: the sick, whining sound of a car pushed to its limits, and not just any car— _Kavinsky’s_. Ronan shuddered. Of course _he_ would find a way into Ronan’s dreams, this was his day and Ronan had purposefully run from him. He was hiding in the mountains while down in Henrietta Kavinsky would be pulling out all the stops to make sure that his Fourth of July bash was even more infamous than the previous one. The music would be louder, the drugs more intense, the dream cars sexier than the too real humans. And Kavinsky…he would be more of himself than ever.

Ronan really didn’t want to think about it. Instead he rolled over and stared at Adam. This had been the plan, after all: _not sleeping_ and admiring Adam Parrish. Adam looked ridiculously relaxed while he slept, face smoothed out making him seem younger and carefree. The burdens that Adam carried while he was awake hadn’t followed him into sleep. His lips were slightly parted; Ronan leaned in to see if he was drooling but of course he wasn’t. Apparently Adam Parrish was too fucking perfect to drool in his sleep. Ronan tried counting his freckles and eyelashes— wasn’t that a thing?—but it had the same effect as counting imaginary sheep. Ronan lost count, the freckles blurring, the eyelashes too fair to distinguish one from another. And it was getting fucking cold. Ronan burrowed back into the sleeping bags and resisted the temptation of shoving his frozen feet against Adam’s warm legs. He felt cozy and safe and, for the moment, a million miles away from his troubles.

—-

It was so warm. Too warm. And something was tickling Ronan’s face, like right above the bridge of his nose. Ronan wrinkled his forehead but kept his eyes stubbornly closed. He wasn’t ready to wake up, not when he was so blissfully relaxed. The tickling persisted and Ronan grudgingly became awake of other sensations: breath against the back of his neck, an arm draped over his hip, legs tangling with his. _Adam_. Ronan wanted to press back against him, wanted to pull Adam to him but he resisted. He was absolutely _never_ going to press an advantage on an unconscious person. Ronan tensed up, worried about moving and waking Adam. But that damn _crawling_ feeling on his face!

The moment that Ronan thought the word crawling he became convinced that something _was_ crawling on his face. It was over his right eyebrow now. God, it felt like thin insect legs exploring his skull. Ronan couldn’t take it anymore. He swiped at his forehead and he had a moment to catch a glimpse of an alarmingly large spider as it went sailing into the corner of the tent.

“JESUS FUCK!” Ronan bolted upright, dragging the sleeping bag and his legs up to his chest as he frantically scanned the tent for other arachnid intruders.

“Wha… Imma awake…” Adam slurred, sitting up and blinking blearily. He looked disoriented. He leaned on Ronan, squinting and poking him in the shoulder. “Oh good. You’re real.” He mumbled. Ronan almost laughed. Almost. He couldn’t laugh when they were being held hostage by fucking spiders. “Wha’s going on?” Adam asked, hanging his head on Ronan’s shoulder.

“ _Spiders_ ,” Ronan hissed, pointing towards the corner of the tent where the spider was steadily walking up the wall.

“Huh.” Adam looked impressed. “That is actually a very large wolf spider.”

“Yes, I can fucking see that, Parrish,” Ronan snapped. “Get it out of the tent.”

Adam yawned and gave Ronan a playful head butt to the chin before climbing out of the sleeping bags. He had also lost his shirt during the night and he rubbed at his arms and chest. Ronan couldn’t help but stare, especially when Adam crawled across the tent. Ronan pulled the pillow over his lap, blushing, but Adam didn’t notice; he was too busy try to capture the evasive spider.

“He likes you, Ronan,” Adam teased. “See? He doesn’t want to leave.”

Ronan made a disgusted expression. “It was on my FACE. It probably laid eggs in my ear. Oh god, Parrish, you have to check. Seriously. Phobia number 10.” Adam laughed but Ronan could _swear_ that his ear felt itchy. “They’ll hatch and eat my brain. I’ll be a hybrid spider-zombie.” Okay, he was going a little overboard but Adam was laughing so hard, holding his stomach, tears glistening in his eyes. Adam had an _amazing_ laugh.

“Adam, the spider is getting away!” Ronan yelped as the spider scuttled toward the top of the tent. Adam stood, looking damn graceful and just wow—so much tanned skin, which Ronan now knew was totally lacking in tan lines. Adam cupped the spider in his hands—in his hands! who did he think he was? that crocodile hunter dude?—before unzipping the tent and releasing it into the wild.

Adam turned and held out his hands for Ronan to see. “Ta-dah! Magic!”

Ronan applauded. “My hero.”

“My blushing damsel in distress,” Adam joked. He knelt next to his backpack and retrieved a bottle of antibacterial solution and cleaned his hands. “There, no spider germs.”

“Thank god,” Ronan sighed dramatically. “Can I get some of that? I need to disinfect my whole fucking face.”

“Hmm, try cleaning out your mouth first, Mr. Lynch,” Adam commented. He crawled over to Ronan and climbed onto his lap, pushing the pillow out of the way. The small, pleased smile on his face made Ronan’s stomach seize. Adam squeezed some cleaner onto his fingers and brushed it over Ronan’s forehead. “Here?” he asked. Ronan nodded, mouth dry, heart pounding. Adam’s fingers traced his brows, up to his hairline. The disinfectant was cold but Adam’s touch was hot. Ronan bit his lower lip to keep in the soft moan that was building in his throat. “Here?” Adam ran the tip of his finger along Ronan’s cheekbone. He licked his lips. _God damn_.

Spiders, germs, disinfectant—all of it was promptly forgotten as they both leaned in, lips meeting, hands reaching, touching, sliding. Everything got all tangled and messy and breathless for a while and Ronan thought his heart would give out. One night and one morning with Adam Parrish and he couldn’t imagine how he had lived without him. Afterwards they lay side-by-side breath heavy, sweat cooling. Adam laced his fingers with Ronan’s and squeezed gently.

“Is it always like that?” Adam asked. His voice was hoarse, full of wonder. Ronan squirmed, the question pulling up other memories.

“No.” He didn’t elaborate and Adam didn’t pry, he pressed their joined hands over his heart so that Ronan could feel just how hard his pulse was still pounding.

“Are you afraid of anything?” Ronan asked suddenly. Adam rolled onto his side and gazed at him. “It’s just—you handle everything so calmly. Spiders, panic attacks, fate…”

“Fate _is_ scary,” Adam cut in. “And your panic attacks…” Adam shook his head. “I’ve had a lot of practice hiding how I feel, Ronan. I manage my emotions; I give people what they need from me and deal with the rest later. But phobias? I don’t know.” He avoided Ronan’s eyes, focusing on their hands, running the pad of his thumb over Ronan’s knuckles. “I’m afraid of failing.” Softer, “I’m afraid of losing you.”

“Hey,” Ronan tilted Adam’s face up. “I’m not going anywhere.” Adam looked so forlorn that Ronan was sorry for asking the question. Seriously, what was wrong with him? Who asked such heavy shit after sleeping with their boyfriend? Idiots, that’s who. “Okay, so like I _might_ get lost in the woods.” Ronan was trying to dig his way out of this. “So you better keep an eye on me at all times. Preferably you should hold my hand. That would be best.”

Adam grinned. “I could get you one of those kid leashes.”

“Oh? Does that mean I get a collar? Can it be leather?”

Adam was blushing now, his eyes sparking. “Hmm, yes. I’ll get you ID tags, too, just in case you wander off.”

“What will they say?” Ronan was enjoying this way too much.

“Ronan is a good boy. If found, please return to A. Parrish, St. Agnes Church.” Ronan was laughing silently by this point. “The tag will be in the shape of a tea mug, of course.”

“Of course,” Ronan snorted.

“Speaking of tea,” Adam got up and rummaged in his bag before holding out a tin of tea. Ronan read the label: _It’s a New Day_. It was a blend of white tea, clover blossoms, and honeysuckle with bits of wild strawberry. “It’s not the strongest tea, as far as caffeine goes,” Adam explained as he got dressed, “but it’s very refreshing. I was trying to capture the way it feels to walk through a dew soaked field, with the sun peaking over the tops of the trees and the fog still clinging to the earth.” Ronan gave Adam a _look_ and he blushed, shrugging his shoulders.

“Poetic,” Ronan commented.

Adam cleared his throat. “I may have used that pitch a few times.”

“Well I’m sold. Brew me some tea, Parrish.”

“Will do.” Adam gave Ronan a cheery salute and slipped out of the tent.

Ronan rolled over and buried his face in the pillow. He could go to sleep again. Camping was strangely exhausting and surprisingly sexy. Okay, Adam was sexy; camping was just a good setting for him. Ronan kicked his feet against the sleeping bag, grinning into the pillow.

“Ronan!” Adam called. “Hurry it up! We’ve got a lot to do today!”

Ronan obeyed, pulling on jeans and a T-shirt. Adam had set out tea and muffins for breakfast. They ate and Adam explained that the muffins came from his baker friend at the market. Everything she made was vegan and organic. Ronan ate three muffins and drank two cups of tea; he was only a little worried that Adam was slowly making him a crunchy hippie.

They cleaned and packed up their campsite. Ronan felt sad to be leaving so soon. Adam reassured him that he had a great place picked out for that night.

“It’s got an amazing view,” Adam said. “We’ll be able to see lots of fireworks.”

 _Fireworks._ Ronan swallowed the spike of nausea.

“By the way, nice job with the glow sticks.”

“Yeah?” Ronan was pleased that Adam had noticed.

“Yep. We should have a rave.”

Ronan snorted. “You? At a rave?”

Adam pretended to be affronted, hands on his hips, chin stuck out. “I’ll have you know that I participated in more than a few dance parties while I lived at Fox Way.”

“Ah,” Ronan smirked. “I bet those psychics get real wild.”

Adam pulled on his backpack and started distributing bags. “I’m sworn to secrecy.”

“Right, right.”

—-

They spent the rest of the day hiking and foraging. Adam showed Ronan some of his favorite places: tangled paths through rhododendrons, overlooks and outcroppings, secluded hollows, a cave passage that Adam swore was a road into faerie. They covered a lot of ground, snacking on nuts and berries. Adam whipped up lunch and they ate at a pretty but crowded picnic area. Ronan watched families going about their holiday celebrations, decked out in red, white, and blue. He glanced over and saw Adam’s pinched forehead and sad eyes and knew he wasn’t the only one missing something that was gone. To distract them both Ronan told Adam about this one time that Gansey had tried to cook steak using an old charcoal grill they had found in the parking lot of Monmouth. It had been an epic failure. Gansey had lost his eyebrows and the right to make fires. Ronan had lost his beer when Noah used it to douse the conflagration. Noah had lost his shit laughing at them. Adam was thoroughly amused and Ronan was contented; Adam was laughing, all was right with the world.

By nightfall Ronan felt like an expert in herb gathering. He and Adam had collected a wealth of plants, everything from nettles to mint, clover to catnip. “Yes, I make tea with catnip,” Adam had said. “Cat people find it very charming.”

Their new campsite was nestled in a grove of pines. They got the tent up and Ronan arranged wood in the fire pit but Adam asked him to hold off on making a fire. He wanted to wait until after they had watched the fireworks. Dinner was grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup, cooked over Adam’s stove. Ronan definitely went for seconds. Afterwards Adam led Ronan up the trail to a craggy outcropping. They perched on the edge, legs hanging in the air. The mountainside fell away in a sheer rock face, the valley spread out before them. Ronan could see the sprawl of towns in the distance. It was all so _tiny_. He let out a melancholy sigh.

“Puts things in perspective, right?” Adam asked. A cool breeze ruffled his hair, pushing it away from his sweaty face. He looked unbelievably good, his faded T-shirt clinging to his body.

“Right,” Ronan agreed, breathless. He was a mess: sweaty, dirty, smelly, itchy, and sunburned. He was fairly sure that Adam wouldn’t be down for messing around while they were both so gross and yet… Ronan leaned over, his hand gripping Adam’s shoulder, and kissed him. Adam tilted his head for a better angle, his hand straying to Ronan’s waist. The kiss unfolded gradually, building in intensity until Ronan was even more hot and sweaty than when they had begun. Adam rested his forehead against Ronan’s shoulder, breathing deeply. The sun was setting and it was gorgeous. _For fuck’s sake_ Ronan thought _I’m living in a goddamned romance novel_.

By the time full dark had descended Ronan’s lips were sore from kissing Adam and he was pretty much dying to go back to their tent but Adam was insistent that they watch the fireworks. Ronan shifted uncomfortably, a prickling of unease itching at the back of his mind. The dark, the promise of explosions—it reminded him too much of Kavinsky. And Kavinsky was down in Henrietta, doing God knew what, and _shit_ Ronan really, really hoped that Gansey and Matthew and Henry were staying far away from the fairgrounds.

“ _Oh_ ,” Adam’s gasp was soft, awed. Ronan looked out and saw a burst of red, so far away that it was little more than a dot in the vast expanse of the landscape. Soon flashes of gold, green, blue, white, and pink followed. The fireworks weren’t isolated to one area; fireworks were being shot off from every corner, lighting up the night. Adam leaned on Ronan’s shoulder and Ronan tried to absorb some of Adam’s excitement. Yet the looming sense of dread continued, strangling him inside. He felt like he was waiting for something. And then he saw it, far off in the distance, where a steady bombardment of red and gold fireworks had been released: a massive scarlet mushroom cloud. It seemed to fill the sky, growing, its edges turning white. Ronan didn’t know what it meant but it made his heart freeze.

“What the hell?” Adam asked, quiet and intense. He was gripping Ronan’s arm.

Ronan watched the cloud dissipate, a hollow feeling in his gut. He didn’t know why it came to him then but he murmured, “ _By the pricking of my thumbs something wicked this way comes_.”

Adam looked up at him, the stars reflected in his troubled gaze.

“Kavinsky,” Ronan said.


	23. Chapter 23

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

The crack and hiss of the fire provided a reassuring accompaniment to the muffled booms of fireworks exploding. Adam and Ronan had stayed at the overlook until Kavinsky’s mushroom cloud had totally dissipated. The night sky, dizzyingly crowded with stars, seemed fragile now, marred by the memory of the sinister cloud, the violent bursts of light. Ronan wanted to dream up a response, something wonderful, something that was the antithesis of Kavinsky’s creation. And that was the point, wasn’t it? K was calling him out. Ronan had skipped his party, Ronan had rejected him, and Kavinsky would do whatever he could to provoke him. It was exhausting and stressful as fuck and Ronan knew that he couldn’t keep shouldering the pressure on his own. It was time to share.

Adam waited patiently while Ronan decided what to say. The fire cast him in warm yellows, soft golds. Adam’s face was already interesting and unique in the light of day but now, with the shifting of light and shadow, he was mesmerizing. Ronan couldn’t stop staring.

Adam’s lips hitched up in a smile and he sighed contentedly. “Do I have something on my face?”

Ronan grinned but didn’t look away. “Nope. Just your face.”

“Ah. My face is on my face. Good to know.”

“Hmmm.” Ronan poked at the logs, arranging them so they would burn better. Sparks flew out, landing on his forearms and burning bright and brief. The sting was nothing, though the heat of the flames made Ronan wince and squint his eyes. Adam was the one staring now, his attention focused on the silvery scars on Ronan’s arms.

“I got these scars the first time I tried to run away from my nightmares,” Ronan said. This wasn’t how he had intended to tell Adam, but now was as good a time as any. “My mind isn’t a safe place. I’ve got these creatures living in there, I call them night horrors. Sometimes they hurt me, in my dreams. Sometimes I come back with wounds.” Adam ran his fingers over the scars. His expression was troubled. “Anyways, one night I had a really bad time of it, manifesting things from my nightmares that would have hurt Gansey. So I ran away and passed out in my car on the side of the road. That’s when the night horrors struck and, to be honest, I didn’t fight them off.”

Ronan concentrated on the flames, watching them burrow into the wood, transforming it from one state to glowing embers. Adam was rubbing his palm back and forth over Ronan’s arm, like he could erase the scars simply by touching them.

“When I finally woke up I was at Kavinsky’s. He had found me. He saved me life. And, here’s the thing—he’s like me.”

Adam’s hand stilled. “What do you mean?”

Ronan swallowed the tremble in his voice. “He’s a dreamer. That cloud you saw, the fireworks? They came from his dreams. It’s the secret behind all his tricks. How does he _always_ have drugs, and ones that no one has ever heard of or seen? How does he get away with all the shit he pulls? Where do all his cars and toys come from?” Ronan fidgeted with the leather bands on his wrist. “If he wants something he dreams it. He’s like that Star Trek dude, he wants something and he just ‘makes it so.’”

“Captain Picard,” Adam supplied. Ronan raised an eyebrow. “The psychics have a particular fondness for classic sci-fi shows.”

“Right. Well, that’s how it is. Me and Kavinsky: Dreamers at Large,” Ronan spat out the words, trying to get rid of the bitter aftertaste. “My father was a dreamer, too. That’s why he was killed. I don’t know the specifics, but I know that it had to do with dreaming.” Ronan scrubbed at his eyes with his fists, weary of the conversation. This was the last night he and Adam had out here, alone, and he was wasting it by bringing up more of the darkness from his past.

“That’s terrible,” Adam whispered. He looked horrified, his wide eyes fixed on Ronan, like he was worried that someone would sneak up out of the woods and strike Ronan down. It was a disturbing thought. “Why would people kill over dreams?”

Ronan shook his head. “I don’t know. All I know is that after his death me and my brothers were forced to leave home. Declan… he was a regular bastard about all of it, blaming dad. That’s partly why we don’t get along.”

“Does he know?” Adam asked.

“Yeah, but outside of the family you’re the only one I’ve told. Well, I told Kavinsky, too. But he pretty much coerced me into it.”

Adam scrunched his forehead up, his long fingers digging into his jeans as he thought. Finally he met Ronan’s eyes. “You’re planning something, aren’t you?”

Ronan moved from where he was kneeling next to the fire and sat down beside Adam. He bumped their shoulders together, then their knees. The easy proximity to Adam was a rush that he was never going to get used to.

“I’m thinking about it,” Ronan admitted. “It’s just—I don’t have a clue about what to do or where to start. I don’t even know if I need to do something? But there’s something going on, Adam. I can feel it. Whoever killed my father is still out there and, assuming that dreamers are few and hard to come by, there’s a chance that this person might come back.”

Adam shivered and grabbed Ronan’s hand, tightly lacing their fingers together. “You think that Kavinsky is drawing too much attention.”

“Yeah. It’s one thing to have raging parties, it’s another to send up a massive, deadly looking smoke signal that was probably seen by anyone looking up tonight. Shit, I guess that we should be thankful that he didn’t throw up a Dark Mark.”

Adam snorted. “Sorry, I know it’s not funny but—” He snickered helplessly.

Ronan leaned into Adam and ruffled his hair. “It’s kind of funny.” Ronan knew for a fact that Kavinsky had read the Harry Potter books and seen the movies. This had come up in some of the conversations between K and his boys, each of them loudly arguing over which Hogwarts Houses they would be in. Kavinsky had always placed Ronan in Hufflepuff even though Ronan thought of himself as a Gryffindor.

“So, you’re going to have a sit down with Kavinsky?” Adam asked.

“Oh, well, that is an option,” Ronan mused. “I was actually planning on beating him up and threatening his punk ass, but I could try talking first.” He was pretending that seeing K again wasn’t scaring the shit out of him and Adam let him.

“That sounds like you,” Adam nodded. “But in all seriousness, I’m going with you. Whenever you have this throw down. You know, for moral support.”

“Thanks,” Ronan said, it came out quieter, more thoughtful than he intended. It was still surprising to know that Adam was there for him, ready and willing to support him. God, not even a week ago he had been telling Adam about his gift. Seven days since the psychics told him that they were _fated_ to meet, to be together. A week ago Adam had asked him to be his boyfriend. _One week_. It was quite possibly the best week of his life.

“You know,” Adam murmured, “I never gave you your present.” He got up and crawled into the tent. Ronan could hear him unzipping bags and rustling around.

“What present?!” Ronan called to him. It wasn’t his birthday and he really couldn’t remember Adam promising him anything.

Adam emerged from the tent, his hands tucked behind his back. His grin was huge and his eyes were practically dancing with suppressed delight. “I said I would make something for you. Remember? After our first date? You walked me back to St. Agnes and we kissed and I wanted to ask you to come up so _bad_ but I thought it was probably too soon.” Adam laughed a little, blushing even though _Christ_ they had come a long way since then.

Ronan swallowed around the lump in his throat. He _definitely_ remembered that night, remembered the way Adam had tasted when they kissed, and the sweet ache in his chest when he had to walk back to Monmouth alone.

“That was a good night,” Ronan said, voice husky.

“Yeah, so I started working on this after you told me about your dreams. It took me awhile to get it right but I think it’s good. I mean, you might not like it but—”

“Adam.” Ronan couldn’t believe that Adam was _nervous_ but he was, stammering and rambling. Whatever it was Ronan already knew it would be perfect. He closed his eyes and held out his hands. He was only a little surprised when he felt a smooth, cool metallic tin. Of course Adam would give him tea. He opened his eyes and examined his present.

Adam’s elegant penmanship decorated the label, the ink a special, smoky blue color like mist or fog. _Dreamer_. The tea was blend of herbs: rooibos, passionflower, anise, burdock, and rose petals. Adam had written out brewing instructions and added a note that it was best to sweeten the tea with honey. Ronan opened the tin and inhaled the fragrance.

“All the herbs are supposed to help you have good dreams,” Adam explained. “Like calm, peaceful dreams. I’m not sure if it will work or not but we could give it a try?”

Ronan nodded. He didn’t think he could speak just then, his heart too full for words. Adam was a miracle, an honest to God miracle.

Adam got out his trusty kettle and filled it with water and brought it to boil over the camp stove. He measured out enough tea for two mugs and then poured in the water to let it steep. The ritual of it seemed to put him at ease and Ronan also fell under the spell. A cool breeze blew through their campsite, wafting the scent of tea around them, and bringing with it the smells of the forest: wet stone and decaying leaves, sap and pine needles. For a moment Ronan closed his eyes and imagined that he and Adam could stay here forever, foraging for their food and sleeping in their tent, adrift from the rest of the world and its problems. It would be nice.

His reverie was broken when Adam handed him a mug of tea. Ronan blew on the surface, watching the steam rise in the rapidly cooling air. After a few moments he tried a sip. The flavor was rich and difficult to categorize; he wasn’t an expert like Adam, all he knew was that it had a nice taste and it was sweet.

“I like it,” he told Adam. “It’s like—I don’t know. Like those old herbal candies you can only buy at that ancient roadside store going out of Henrietta. You know what I mean?”

Adam nodded. “Yep. I got the honey from Mr. Gray, so that’s the sweet part of it.” He drank some more. “I’m glad you like it. I had a time balancing the different flavors.”

“It’s great,” Ronan assured him. He had already drunk half of the tea without even realizing it. “How long does it need to take effect?”

“I’m not sure,” Adam replied. “Are you feeling sleepy?”

“Are you asking me to come to bed, Parrish?” He added a suggestive eyebrow waggle because why the hell not.

Adam’s face went blank for a moment and then he was laughing, his eyes shut and one hand pressed to his stomach as he bent over, giggling helplessly. “I’m sorry—but oh my god, Ronan!” Adam gasped a couple times before sitting up again, wiping tears from his eyes. “Finish your tea and then I’ll properly seduce you.”

“Well, by all means, please be proper about it,” Ronan teased. He chugged the rest of the tea and sat forward in anticipation of being  _properly_ seduced.

It was absolutely worth the wait.

_…to be continued…_


	24. Chapter 24

_Ronan dreamed of the meadow. Flowers and berry bushes surrounded him, wild and lovely. There was a mixture of plants: lavender and roses, rosemary and mint, blackberries and thistles. Adam was ahead of him, wandering through the flora, picking herbs and flowers. Every once and a while he would peek over his shoulder to make sure that Ronan was following. Birds soared overhead, calling to one another in Latin. The croaks and trills all sang the same thing, heralding the coming of the Raven King. Ronan looked around, expecting to find the King but it was only he and Adam. Adam was standing with his head cocked to the side, his eyes closed, listening. Above his head Ronan saw something like a halo…no, an infinity symbol, winking and sparkling. Adam opened his eyes and they were filled with an eerie gleam. He opened his mouth and whispered, ‘Make way for the Raven King.’ The dream shifted, wrapping around Ronan like a wave, tumbling him. He was in Adam’s apartment. He was in Adam’s bed, curled up with his head pillowed on Adam’s stomach. Adam was reading him a poem, his fingertips tracing the line of Ronan’s collarbones, back and forth. “And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,/Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;/There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,/And evening full of the linnet’s wings.”_

Ronan woke with peace in his heart and the poem on his lips. He turned to ask Adam about the poem but Adam was gone.

Well, he wasn’t gone, gone. Ronan strained his ears and he heard the quiet sounds of Adam doing something, probably making tea or cooking. And that was good, it was _very_ good. Ronan squashed the spike of anxiety he had felt from waking alone. Waking alone after being ‘properly seduced,’ Adam’s words, not his. Ronan pulled the pillow over his face and grinned. Adam had let him sleep in. Adam was making him breakfast. Adam Parrish was the Best Boyfriend Ever.

The scent of pancakes got Ronan up and moving. As he pulled on a pair of briefs and a T-shirt he had to wonder _pancakes??_ It was clear that Adam was blessed with all sorts of survival skills and camping proficiency but _pancakes_? Ronan didn’t even know how to make pancakes let alone how to cook them in the middle of a national forest.

Adam was perched next to his camping stove, spatula in one hand, pan in the other, and a bowl of batter balanced on his lap. He was staring intently at the pancakes in the pan, watching the bubbles in the batter rise and pop. Going by some cue that Ronan could not decipher, Adam flipped the pancakes, revealing a perfectly golden brown side. Ronan clapped and Adam’s head jerked up like a spooked squirrel before he relaxed and waved the spatula at Ronan.

Ronan ambled over and sat next to him, snagging his mug of tea and taking a sip. It tasted like blackberries and mint.

“Good morning,” Adam murmured. “I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

Ronan shook his head. “Nope. Well, not directly.” Adam tilted his head in question. “I was dreaming about you and then I woke up.”

Adam blushed which, _god_ , adorable. “Good dreams?”

“Yeah. It was sort of weird at one point because there were these birds speaking in Latin about a Raven King and then you got kind of spooky, too. But before I woke up I was dreaming that we were at your apartment and you were reading this English poem…oh bugger I can’t remember the name. Something about a ‘bee-loud glade’?”

“Ah, I know the one you mean.” Adam transferred the pancakes to a plate and poured more batter in the pan. “It’s called ‘The Lake Isle of Innisfree’ by Yeats. I really like that one. It makes me think of, well, of how things are supposed to be, you know? Calm, easy, natural.”

Ronan nodded and sighed. “It reminds me of the Barns. Which, damn, I really wish I could take you there. You would love it. The fields, the gardens, the animals…”

Adam smiled fondly. “Yeah,” he agreed. He let go of the pan and reached for Ronan, his palm resting on the back of Ronan’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss. Ronan felt tremendously happy. He wrapped an arm around Adam’s waist to drag him closer but Adam made a muffled _mrph_ noise and pulled back. “Can’t let the pancakes burn,” he said breathlessly.

Ronan smirked. “A valid point, Parrish.” He finished off Adam’s tea and sat back, stretching his legs out in front of him. He hadn’t bothered to pull on his jeans and Adam was very obviously staring. Ronan did a couple stretches just to emphasis that he did have nice legs. Adam snorted and flipped the pancakes again.

“So…,” Ronan started, “last night…” Adam shot him a _look_. Bless him it looked like he was poised for a report card. Ronan smiled wickedly. “It was really, really,” Adam was leaning forward, clearly impatient to hear _what_ last night had been, for Ronan. “If I had to summarize then I would say it was…” Ronan was stalling intentionally, and enjoying the hell out of it. Adam made a strangled noise. “Perfect.”

Adam was blushing, all the way to the tips of his ears. He was also letting the pancakes burn, which he realized after they started smoking. Ronan laughed while Adam grumbled and knocked the pancakes onto the plate with the others. One side was perfect, the other was black. Adam sighed and scrapped the last of the batter into the pan before turning to Ronan.

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

Ronan shrugged but his smile was impish. “Maybe.”

“Well, then _you_ can eat the burned ones,” Adam said. “And don’t even think about throwing them in the woods. We don’t waste food.”

“Oh?” Ronan teased. “ _We_ don’t?”

Adam pinched his thigh. “You know what, Ronan, just for being a brat you don’t get any dessert.”

Ronan nuzzled the side of Adam’s neck, his lips grazing his throat. “I thought after last night I earned dessert…”

Adam hissed, his breath shuddering out. His hand moved to Ronan’s knee, he slid his palm up Ronan’s thigh and squeezed. Ronan shivered and sucked on the Adam’s collarbone, his tongue lazily moving over the ridge of bone to the hollow at the base of Adam’s neck. Adam moaned quietly, his grip on Ronan tightening until it was almost painful.

“F-fuck,” Adam stuttered, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Ronan stopped and raised his head to stare at Adam. “Parrish did you just fucking swear?”

Adam glared. “Yes, yes I did, _Lynch_. Clearly you’re a bad influence.”

“Uh-huh,” Ronan smirked, staring pointedly at Adam’s lap. “I’m _so_ bad. Still no dessert?”

“You’re incorrigible,” Adam huffed. He divided up the pancakes, giving Ronan the plate with the burned ones.

“I don’t know the meaning of the word,” Ronan replied airily. Adam rolled his eyes and passed him the maple syrup and a small bowl of blueberries.

“How’d you even make pancakes?” Ronan asked as he shoved a forkful into his mouth. They were perfect, well, they had a charred aftertaste but whatever.

Adam chewed and swallowed. “I brought a mix. Just add water and  _voila_ —pancakes.”

“‘s fuckin’ delicious,” Ronan said, his mouth open as he chewed. Adam reached over and pushed his chin up to close his mouth.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Adam mock lectured.

“That’s not what you said last night,” Ronan muttered.

Adam choked and coughed, his face flushing bright red. “Oh my god, you are _evil_!”

“Like the fruits of the devil,” Ronan deadpanned. He was enjoying this way too much, but why not? He beamed facetiously and finished off the pancakes while Adam fumed and ate with intense concentration. Once he was done he got up and grabbed Ronan by the wrist and pulled him back to the tent. Ronan was laughing when Adam tackled him and they fell into the sleeping bags.

“You mad, bro?” Ronan snarked. Adam pinned his wrists over his head and made an exasperated sound.

“Impossible,” Adam kissed Ronan; he tasted like syrup, sweet and sticky. “Contrary.” Another kiss, on his chin. “Infuriating.” A bite on Ronan’s earlobe. Ronan gasped, his hands squeezing into fists as he strained up against Adam.

“Does this mean dessert is back on the menu?” Ronan managed to ask.

Adam wedged his knee between Ronan’s legs. “Very much so,” he replied.

—–

Packing up the tent and hiking back to the BMW felt like the hardest thing Ronan had ever done. He didn’t want to leave; he didn’t want to think about being apart from Adam. They held hands as the walked down the trail, Adam swinging their arms back and forth. He looked effervescent. Ronan squeezed his hand, chasing the feeling of rightness that had blossomed between them. They had talked more, after, their voices hushed, their laughter muted and intimate. Ronan still couldn’t believe that this was happening, that _they_ were happening.

Adam was chattering about his plans, how he needed to dry the herbs and berries, how he had an evening shift at Boyd’s. They had taken their time this morning and it was no longer early but Adam wasn’t bothered. He told Ronan they could stop at Big Meadows on the way back and clean up in the restroom, for which Ronan was thankful. They were both a mess and he didn’t want to drive all the way back to Henrietta sweaty and sticky.

Ronan settled into the driver’s seat and, for the first time ever, regretted that the BMW was a manual because it meant he couldn’t hold Adam’s hand while they drove home. The traffic on Skyline Drive had thinned out, most vacationers choosing to head home on Sunday evening instead of on Monday. Ronan cruised at the posted speed limit, taking in the views. Adam hummed under his breath. It sounded like the Beatles.

The Big Meadows parking lot was only half full. Ronan followed Adam into the men’s restroom. They picked the sinks away from the door and started cleaning up. Other guys came and went; apparently sink bathing wasn’t that weird because no one said anything to them about it but Ronan still felt self-conscious. Adam stripped off his shirt and stuck his head under the faucet, scrubbing at his hair. Ronan hip checked him to get his attention and reached over to help, cupping water in his hands and spreading it through Adam’s damp hair. Adam clutched at the sink, not letting himself get too relaxed because they were in a public place. Ronan didn’t need help with his lack of hair however when he went into a stall to wipe down he noticed…

“FUCK!” Ronan’s pants were around his ankles and his hands were shaking because, dotting his pale legs like freckles, were _fucking ticks_.

“Ronan! Are you okay?!” Adam pounded on the door until Ronan pulled the latch back and pointed at his legs.

“Oh! Shit!” Adam gasped. Ronan was both proud and worried that he had managed to get Adam to swear twice in one morning. Adam squeezed into the stall and locked the door behind him. “God, Ronan, when did you manage to get all these ticks?”

Ronan was trembling as he watched the _fucking ticks_ crawl over his skin. “I…I don’t know,” he wailed miserably. “Probably on the hike back to the car. Do you not have any?”

“Umm, no,” Adam admitted. “I have that herbal bug repellant, you know, the stuff you said you didn’t need?”

“Jesus Fucking Christ,” Ronan muttered. “Adam, you’ve gotta help me I don’t think I can get them all off.”

“Okay, okay, just calm down.” Adam dropped to his knees and, under normal circumstances, this would have been sexy as hell but right now Ronan felt sick. Adam grabbed a tick between his thumb and forefinger and dropped it into the toilet. His forehead was creased in concentration and he was breathing shallowly. “Goodness, Ronan, this is…I’ve never seen someone get this many ticks in one go.”

“Insidious little fuckers,” Ronan moaned. “Gansey said hematophagous creatures are attracted to me but I didn’t listen.”

Adam snorted. “Yeah, well, at least we found out sooner rather than later. I don’t think they’ve had a chance to bite you very much. And they’re only up to your thighs…I think.”

“You think?!” Ronan whisper-yelled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, erm, this is awkward,” Adam hedged, plucking off ticks and disposing of them. The toilet bowl was swimming with ticks. “See, ticks like to go to um, moist, warm crevices.”

“ _No_ ,” Ronan groaned.

“Yep, so you will definitely need to check that out,” Adam nodded. He had removed most of the ticks from Ronan’s legs. “Turn for a minute, let me check the back.”

“Fucking hell,” Ronan muttered as Adam went back to work. Once he was done he got up and gave Ronan a bit of privacy to remove his briefs and check his groin, which was, mercifully, tick free. “Um, Adam?” Ronan asked. “Could you, uh, maybe make sure there aren’t any…back there?”

Adam made a weird noise that sounded like a laugh mixed with a groan but he did as Ronan requested and then gave his butt a light pat. “All clear, sir,” he said, trying to stifle his laughter.

“I swear to God, Parrish, if you tell anyone about this…” Ronan snarled, his chest and face flushed with embarrassment as he pulled his clothes on.

Adam kissed Ronan on the cheek and whispered in his ear, “Don’t you think we’re past the blushing phase?”

 _No, never_ Ronan thought. He followed Adam out of the stall and noticed how the other men in the restroom quickly adverted their eyes. _Fucking embarrassing_.

Ronan spent the rest of the drive fidgeting and griping while Adam scanned the radio stations. They were almost home when Adam stumbled on a country station. Both of them listened in astonishment as a mellow male voice crooned seductively that, “I’d like to walk you through a field of wildflowers/and I’d like to check you for ticks.” Adam _would not stop laughing_. He was crying by the time Ronan dropped him off at St. Agnes.

“This is why I hate country music,” Ronan complained.

“Hmm. You know what they say,” Adam grinned. He pitched his accent so it was totally country and sang, “‘You never know where one might be/There’s lots of places that are hard to reach…’”

Ronan shoved his palm over Adam’s mouth. “I will break up with you,” he threatened but Adam just licked his palm and winked.

Ronan played the Squash Murder Song in retaliation and peeled out of the parking lot, his fist raised and the middle finger extended.

Despite the tick incident Ronan was buzzing with good vibes, at least until he arrived at Monmouth and found Declan’s Volvo parked next the Pig.

 

[Song lyrics from "Ticks" by Brad Paisley. I blame my country-loving relatives]


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: mild panic attack, blackmail, vague references to the awfulness that happened with Kavinsky

Visits from Declan were a rare and unwanted occurrence. Just seeing his shiny silver Volvo parked so brazenly outside of Monmouth gave Ronan a bitter taste in his mouth. He hadn’t seen Declan in weeks, not since that awkward Sunday lunch when Ronan had run into Kavinsky and panicked. Ronan climbed the steps to Monmouth, his stomach roiling with tension.

The door was unlocked and before Ronan had even managed to leverage it open he heard raised voices. Declan’s was easy to pick out but Ronan wasn’t so sure about the other. This was not how his vacation was supposed to end.

“I’m telling you—he’s out of control! Why do you keep defending him?” Declan’s back was to the door and he was standing in the middle of the room, his hands buried in his hair, grasping at the roots in a familiar display of frustration. Gansey and Noah stood off to his right, watching him with concerned expressions. Henry, Blue, and Matthew were perched on the couch looking uncomfortable. The surprise guest faced Declan, his arms crossed over his chest and his lips turned down in an unfamiliar scowl. _Jiang_.

“I’m _not_ defending him,” Jiang shouted back, “I’m trying to explain that you don’t have all the facts. You don’t understand what’s happening!”

Gansey had noticed Ronan and he gave him an apologetic look before announcing, “Ronan’s back.”

Ronan didn’t think he could forgive this treachery. He hissed at Gansey, “ _Judas_.”

Gansey cringed and scuffed his hand over the back of his head; it made his already mussed hair stick up even more. He wouldn’t meet Ronan’s eyes. Declan whirled around and glared at Ronan before storming across the room to get in his face.

“Where the FUCK have you been, Ronan?” Declan grabbed the front of his shirt in one fist and yanked him forward. It was the prelude to a brawl, an opening note that demanded Ronan reply in kind. Ronan, through a supreme force of will, kept his arms at his side and stared Declan down.

“I was camping in the mountains. With my boyfriend.”

“ _What_?” Declan’s fist tightened in Ronan’s shirt for a moment before he released him. Declan took a few steps back and gave Ronan a bewildered look.

“Declan, that’s what I’ve been _trying_ to tell you ever since you showed up here!” Gansey pleaded. The others were keeping quiet, watching the drama play out but Ronan was so lost. What the hell had happened while he was gone?

“Ronan,” Gansey’s voice was quiet and apprehensive, tinged with regret. “Ronan, you left your phone here.”

“So?” Ronan asked. It wasn’t like he used the damn thing anyway.

“You were getting texts all weekend, Ronan. The buzzing was so awful that I finally had to hunt down your phone to shut it off and that’s when I saw…” Gansey paused and swallowed. Noah squeezed his shoulder and Gansey nodded his thanks before continuing. “Kavinsky’s been texting you all weekend.”

Ronan couldn’t hide his flinch and he couldn’t miss the look on Declan’s face, it was like he had aged ten years. He actually looked _pained_.

“He started texting me, too,” Declan said. The words were so quiet that Ronan almost missed them. Declan pulled his phone out of his pocket and passed it to Ronan. Ronan scanned the messages, pausing in horror when he got to the attached images. _When had…_ he didn’t remember when they had been taken. He scrolled through them with mounting horror, tasting the bile on the back of his throat. _Declan had seen this…Christ_.

“I…I thought you were with him this weekend. You read the texts. He made it sound like you were with him. Ronan…Ronan…”

Ronan couldn’t stop staring at the phone, at the damning pictures. “I don’t remember this,” was all he could manage to say before Declan grabbed him and pulled him into a crushing hug. Declan’s quiet sob was muffled against his shoulder. Ronan didn’t move to hug Delcan back. He was in shock. All over again. _Christ._

“I’m going to call Adam,” Gansey said, his voice sounded far off and full of authority. Ronan blinked, trying to clear the spots from his vision.

“Breathe, Ronan, breathe,” Declan commanded as he lowered them both to the floor. Noah was there, too, his cool fingers at the back of Ronan’s neck, guiding his head down between his knees.

“Don’t,” Ronan mumbled. “Don’t call. Gansey, don’t call.”

“Alright, okay, I won’t, Ronan. Just take it easy,” Gansey assured him.

Ronan pressed his forehead against his knees. Some part of him had known, the moment he had seen the mushroom cloud, that shit was about to go down. But he had ignored it, let himself believe that he and Adam could shut out the bad and live in their own private world, safe from the past. It had been a fucking fairy tale and now the real world was here to screw him over again.

“Who else saw?” Ronan moaned.

Declan was kneeling next to him; he looked… _broken_. “Just me. And Gansey.”

“ _Christ_ ,” Ronan hissed. “Why’d you show Gansey?”

“ _I didn’t_ ,” Declan protested. “Gansey saw your phone. Kavinsky…sent them to you first. Apparently he was trying to blackmail you into coming to his party but when you never responded he sent me the pictures. I thought…I thought you were with him, Ronan. And I was so furious and scared and I was going out of my mind. So I called Jiang because, because I knew he would know if you were there but he kept saying you weren’t.” Declan shook his head. “Jiang drove back to Aglionby to talk to me in person because I was freaking out and he suggested we come here. We haven’t been here long.”

“What about the others?” Ronan couldn’t bear the thought of lifting his head and seeing Blue and Henry and _Matthew_ staring at him. He couldn’t bear that they were witnessing this.

“Blue and Henry were already here. I brought Matthew because I didn’t want to leave him in the dorms by himself.”

That was smart thinking; with Kavinsky obviously unhinged and on the warpath it wouldn’t do to leave Matthew unprotected.

It was all too fucking much. Ronan sighed deeply, squeezed his eyes closed, and thought about Adam. He thought about the way Adam had looked that morning, his cheeks flushed and his hair a mess as he looked down at Ronan. He reminded himself that he had made it this far and that this shock, this awful attack from Kavinsky, wasn’t going to stop him from moving forward.

Ronan indulged in a long and complicated series of swear words, muttered so softly that only Declan and Noah heard him. Noah smirked and rubbed Ronan’s back. Declan blessed the profane prayer with a dry, “Amen.”

Declan helped Ronan to his feet and hugged him again. “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” Declan whispered. “I’m sorry for a lot of things, Ronan. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you…that night. I’m just so fucking sorry.” Ronan could feel tears against his shoulder and it made him want to cry, too.

“Damn it, Declan,” Ronan whispered back, “you’ve got to keep it together, man or I’m gonna bawl and then _Matthew_ will start and you know how that ends.”

“Oh Christ, you’re right,” Declan sniffled He cleared his throat twice to dispel the sorrowful ache that was making him hoarse. “We need to talk.”

“Yes,” Ronan agreed. “Later.”

The brothers finally faced the room. Blue and Henry had their arms wrapped around Matthew, keeping him on the couch with them. He looked as distraught as Ronan felt. Gansey was standing halfway between the couch and the door, his phone clutched in his hand like a lifeline. He looked ready to command an army or plan a siege. Jiang stood on the border of the model Henrietta. He looked miserable. Ronan could only imagine how he must be feeling; having Declan’s anger targeted at anyone for a prolonged period of time was debilitating, especially considering their history. Not that Ronan had much sympathy for Jiang at the moment.

Ronan took a deep breath. He could do this. “Okay, fuckers,” he announced, “we’re going to war.” Blue made a scoffing noise and Ronan amended his statement, “Fuckers _and_ Blue. Apologies, Sargent.”

“Whatever,” Blue said, with an added eyeroll for emphasis. “Are you sure we should start plotting without Adam here?”

“Wait, wait…go back,” Declan interrupted. “You all keep talking about Adam. Remind me who he is?”

“Jesus Christ, Declan!” Ronan shoved Declan’s shoulder. “Adam Parrish? You met him. He lives above St. Agnes.”

Declan’s brow furrowed in thought. “Coca-Cola T-shirt?” he asked.

“I think you mean Henrietta’s Hottest Herbalist,” Noah corrected. Ronan grinned and knocked fists with Noah.

“Adam’s my boyfriend,” Ronan explained, for the benefit of those who didn’t know already. Jiang looked stunned.

“Oh god K is going to lose his fucking mind…” Jiang moaned.

“He’s not,” Declan cut him off, “because you’re not going to tell him, Jiang. You have to pick a side: with him or with us.”

Jiang was looking at Declan, and only Declan, the gaze so intense that it should be private. Ronan adverted his eyes.

“Fine,” Jiang murmured. “Fine. I can’t stand how K has behaved towards Ronan. I’m with you.”

“Good,” Gansey said. “Now let’s plan.”

Everyone gathered around the couch, perching on chairs or lounging on the floor. Gansey stood in the middle of their haphazard circle, his hands behind his back as he paced. He gave them an abbreviated list of grievances against Kavinsky and the rest of them chimed in from time to time, adding instances or expounding on details. Jiang sat with his mouth clamped shut in a bitter frown. Ronan knew what was probably going through his mind—all the good moments with Kavinsky: gaming and movie watching, smoking and drinking by the pool, racing through the streets of Henrietta, the heat of bonfires and the hissing explosions of fireworks in the summer sky. There had been good times, and that made this outcome suck so hard.

“I have something to add,” Ronan interjected. Gansey shut up and nodded. Ronan looked at Declan, wishing that they had been able to discuss this beforehand but there was no time. Kavinsky had pressed the fast forward button and Ronan had to act now, before it was too late.

“Kavinsky and I share a unique…gift.” Ronan stopped, inhaled through his nose and exhaled from his mouth, sending a silent apology to Niall. “We’re able to take objects out of our dreams. I have a dozen different things I can show you that will prove this. I could even do a fucking demo. The point is, Kavinsky is wildly unpredictable and dangerous. Maybe you saw the mushroom cloud he sent up on the Fourth? That was a warning. I don’t know what he’s planning but we need to be careful.”

The room was tense with shocked silence. Declan, Matthew, Jiang, and Noah looked unsurprised but Gansey, Blue, and Henry were clearly struggling with the concept.

“Our dad was a dreamer,” Matthew supplied, his usually bright voice deadened by grief and worry.

“I’ve heard of strange things,” Gansey murmured, clearly thinking of the magic purported to travel along the ley lines. “I believe you.”

“I’m the daughter of a psychic,” Blue chimed in, “Of course I believe.”

Henry kept quiet but the _look_ he gave Ronan was almost chilling. Henry Cheng was keeping secrets.

“Way to go, Ronan,” Declan muttered, so that only Ronan could hear him, “cat’s out of the bag now.”

“They need to know,” Ronan murmured. “We’re not just going up against a town bully, we’re facing someone with the creative powers of a god and the disposition of a devil.”

“Only while he’s sleeping,” Declan pointed out.

“Huh, good point,” Ronan acknowledged.

The group lost its focus as everyone thought about and discussed the revelation. Gansey finally called for a tea break, pouring mugs of mint tea and distributing scones from the market. They made plans to reconvene when Adam was able to join them. Declan and Jiang left first, their heads bent together as they engaged in a passionate whisper fight. Gansey took Blue, Henry, and Matthew back home. Finally it was just Ronan and Noah.

Ronan was exhausted. He dragged his backpack to his room and fell on the bed. Noah sat next to him, tracing the visible lines of Ronan’s tattoo.

“How long have you known?” Ronan asked.

“Always,” Noah replied, his chilly fingers pressing into the hard nubs of Ronan’s vertebrae.

“Thanks for not telling anyone.”

“I’m good at keeping secrets,” Noah whispered.

Ronan buried his face in the pillow, missing the comforting presence of Adam curled up beside him. This was not how he thought his summer would go. He wanted to hide from his problems forever, to ignore them, but K had pushed them to this point and now…now it really was war.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forewarning: This update is very heavy. Contains accidental self-injury.

Monmouth was achingly quiet now that everyone was gone. Ronan lay on his bed, body curled away from the closed door, staring at the wall without seeing it. His mind presented him with a jumble of images: Night horrors descending from the skies, beaks yawning as they lunged for him. A snapshot of him, contorted and gasping on someone else’s bed. The devil, red and naked and too human, leering at him from the edge of the forest. His father broken on the ground. Declan’s face when he yelled, when he cried, when he said _I’m sorry_. Matthew hunkered down on the couch looking lost. The tragic crucifix hanging on the wall of St. Agnes, blood dripping from its side and hands and feet and head. Adam’s ravaged back. Kavinsky’s scarred side and his hollow eyes. Noah convulsing and helpless. Wasps. Darkness. A red traffic light. The glowing end of a cigarette. Blood on the pavement, on his hands.

“Ronan.”

Ronan came back to himself, choking and shaking, cold to the core. Noah was lying behind him, his arms wrapped around Ronan’s chest. It was like being trapped in a freezer. Ronan shivered, his body and mind confused by Noah’s total absence of heat.

“Noah,” Ronan rasped, his teeth chattering. He swore he could see his breath but that should be impossible. _Impossible_. Who was he to question what was and wasn’t possible? “Noah, let go I’m okay now.”

“You’re not.” Noah answered. It sounded like his voice was coming from another room even though his chest was pressed against Ronan’s back. Ronan could feel the chill exhalation of breath on his neck and it made the hairs on his arms prickle.

“You’re fucking freezing, man,” Ronan growled, trying to push out of Noah’s arms. Noah shouldn’t be this strong; he shouldn’t be this clingy, either. “Hey, did you forget I have a boyfriend now? You can’t just…do this anymore, okay?”

Noah sighed in his ear. “You know it means nothing,” he murmured. He sounded sad. Ronan didn’t want him to be sad but he also didn’t want to keep shivering. “I’m so tired of being cold. It’s always cold. It’s always…” Noah’s voice faded out, his grip weakened and Ronan rolled over and sat up.

Noah’s smudgy face was turned away but Ronan could still see the darkness that seemed to perpetually linger on his cheek. For a moment it reminded him of finding his father, of seeing the wounds on his skull where the tire iron had broken through… Ronan’s stomach twisted. He placed a hand on Noah’s back and it was like touching an invisible barrier, the elastic give of flesh was missing. For a moment it seemed that Noah flickered, for a moment Ronan thought he smelled fresh blood. Noah trembled.

“Okay, what the fuck,” Ronan mumbled. He slid off the mattress to the floor and pulled Noah to him. Noah was dead weight, doing little to nothing to help Ronan. “Shit, man,” Ronan complained. “I thought you were taking care of me this time.” He managed to get Noah on his feet but then he tripped over a tangle of cords and sent them pitching towards the wall, the windows.

Ronan couldn’t explain what happened. One minute he and Noah were crashing against the wall and then his head knocked into the window casement, hard enough that he saw stars. His vision blacked out for a second and he heard shattering glass and a hoarse cry and—Noah was gone.

Ronan reeled. He staggered to the window, hands clutching the edge, broken glass slicing his palms. He didn’t want to look down. He _had_ to look down. He had to see—

Noah wasn’t there. He wasn’t broken and bleeding on the ground. Shards of glass littered the weeds and dirt below, the sunlight winking off their surface. The hot July breeze curled around Ronan’s shoulders as he stood there, mouth hanging open, blood dripping down the windowsill.

“Noah?”

Silence. Ronan strained his ears but only heard the sigh of the wind and the distant drone of cars, a few birdcalls.

“ _NOAH!_ ”

It was worse than a nightmare. It was worse than waking up not knowing what he had done the night before. It was worse. It was worse. It was worse. It was… it was…

Ronan dug his hands into the glass, retching. It had to be a nightmare. It had to. He just needed to wake up. Wake up and Noah would be there. Wake up and the window would be whole and this never happened. He fell to his knees, jarring his whole body with the impact. He didn’t wake up.

 _“God damn it_. _God fucking damn it._ ”

He didn’t mean to cry but he did. Gasping sobs from deep in his stomach. He was losing his mind. That was all it could be. Gone. Noah was gone. _No_. No, he was just confused. He was not well. It was _him_ , not Noah. Ronan groaned. Where was Gansey? Gansey could figure this out. Gansey would know what to do.

The door behind him creaked open letting in a cool gust of air and the scent of moldering leaves. He heard the scuff of shoes on the floor, tentative steps. Ronan couldn’t bear to turn and look.

Fingertips grazed the back of his neck, traveling up and over his shaved scalp, moving to his jaw, still rough and scratchy from the camping trip. A slow, steady pressure was tipping his head back. Ronan didn’t open his eyes. He shook with pain and fear and doubt and hope.

Warmth against his face, cold against his neck.

“This isn’t a dream.”

Ronan bit his lip until he tasted blood, his eyes squeezed closed. The glass was cutting deep into his palms but he couldn’t let go.

Cold fingers pried his hands away from the windowsill.

“You’ll need stitches.”

Ronan shook his head. “You’re not… I’m not awake. This isn’t real.”

A heavy sigh and the press of fabric against his palms. It stung badly and Ronan winced.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this.” A pause. “I never wanted you to find out.”

This time Ronan opened his eyes. Noah knelt beside him, pressing one of Ronan’s shirts against his sliced hands. He looked no different than he had before. Only now Ronan could finally see the discrepancies that had always been there: his fuzzy lack of clarity, the smudge that was actually an injury, the pale lifelessness of his skin, the deep chill of his touch.

“How long?” Ronan asked. The rest of the words got stuck in his throat. His mind couldn’t fully articulate what he was asking.

“I’ve been dead for seven years,” Noah whispered.

Ronan stared. He stared and stared. He forgot to breathe. Noah stared back, unblinking. It was like peering into the abyss, like opening a door in the middle of the night and straining to see _something_. Ronan blinked.

“ _Fuck_.”

Noah’s sad face tilted to the side, a tiny smile teasing his lips for a second. Ronan swore for an extended period of time, none of it directed at Noah, all of it directed at…at… fuck if he knew. With each uttered obscenity he came a little closer to acceptance, or at least, to belief. He wasn’t crazy and yet, this was worse. His friend was _dead_ , had been dead from the moment they met. How had he been so blind?

“What happened?” Ronan croaked. Noah shrugged. “C’mon, Noah, don’t do that. I know you know. What. Happened. How did you die?”

Noah glowered and it did something, sent a charge through the room, like the tense atmosphere before a storm. It felt like supernatural intimidation.

“Fuck that,” Ronan growled. He yanked his hands out of Noah’s grasp; blood immediately welling up and filling his palms. Before Noah could move away or disappear Ronan placed his bleeding hands on either side of his face. He felt Noah’s cold leeching into his skin, he saw a blush building on Noah’s cheeks when such a reaction should be impossible. His mind fought between empirical evidence and metaphysical proof. _Noah was dead_. _Noah was here. Noah was a ghost_.

“You don’t need to know,” Noah said, his hands clutching at Ronan’s wrists, trying to push him away. “Don’t you think,” he shoved harder, “that you’ve suffered enough?”

“It’s not about _my_ suffering,” Ronan huffed, his fingers slipping from Noah’s face, too slicked with blood for a solid grip. “You know all my secrets, Noah. You know more than Gansey, my brothers, even Adam.” His voice broke. “How is it fair? That I know nothing about you? That I didn’t even fucking notice that you weren’t alive?” He was yelling. “You slept in my bed! You helped me countless times when I was too fucked to help myself. AND I NEVER NOTICED!”

Noah cringed, his face tight with misery. “I didn’t want you to.” Noah’s voice was a whisper, barely there. Before his eyes he saw Noah start to fade. Ronan sobbed, his hands reaching for a boy who wasn’t there.

“Stop!” Ronan called out. “Please, Noah, I won’t ask. I promise, I won’t but god damn it don’t go.”

Noah was already gone. In his place, written in Ronan’s blood, was a word: _murdered_.

—–

At some point Gansey returned. Ronan heard him climbing the stairs, heard the door open and listened to the familiar tread of the worn boat shoes against the floor. He hadn’t moved since Noah had vanished. The cuts on his hands were a congealed mess, fresh blood seeping to the surface whenever he moved. Ronan waited for Gansey. He had the presence of mind to cover up Noah’s gory message; he didn’t know if Noah would want him to tell the others or not.

“I’m back,” Gansey called. He pushed his way in since Ronan’s door was still standing half open. “I returned Matthew to Aglionby; he’s with Declan. Henry’s back at Litchfield. And Blue—” Gansey stopped talking but Ronan was too drained to look up and read his reaction; he simply waited for the outburst.

“ _Ronan_.” His name sounded like an epitaph. “Not again.” Gansey rushed over, falling to his knees in front of Ronan. His hands were shaking as he gingerly lifted Ronan’s right hand. Gansey hissed in sympathetic pain. “Not again.”

“It was an accident.”

“You broke the window. With your hands. How is that an accident?” Gansey was examining his other hand now, shaking his head. An angry flush had risen on his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

“Gansey.” Ronan put as much earnestness as he could into his voice. He was too tired for this. Gansey met his gaze and Ronan felt that frisson of connection they had shared since the early days of their friendship. “I promised you. This was an accident, I swear.”

Gansey swallowed and he blinked several times, like he was trying to push back tears or reset his emotions. “Fine. Whatever. I just…this is a lot, Ronan. The texts, Kavinsky, your dreams. I don’t know…” He blinked again but this time the glaze of tears remained. “I don’t know who you are anymore.”

Ronan was done. So done. He stared at the floor, at the bloodstains and the smudged letters. He wondered how a handful of hours could upend nearly everything. Gansey’s words felt like a weight around his neck, Noah’s murder was shadow over his heart. Ronan struggled to his feet, Gansey immediately rising to help support him in case he stumbled.

“Let’s go to the hospital,” Ronan said. He grabbed his phone on the way out, smearing it with blood before sliding it into his pocket.

Gansey followed him, asking about Noah but Ronan didn’t answer. As they peeled out of the lot Ronan looked up and saw Noah’s pale face watching from the windows. He tried to convince himself that everything wasn’t fucked.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Borderline NSFW content but nothing explicit. I think this update is about 50/50 angst to fluff.

By the time they left the emergency room the sun was setting. Gansey hadn’t said much to Ronan on the drive over and had spent the majority of the wait outside in the parking lot talking to Malory about the ley line. Or that’s what he said. Ronan had a sneaking suspicion that Gansey had been talking to Blue at least part of the time.

The physician, a nice looking younger man named Raj, got Ronan stitched up. One of the nurses came by the check on them and did a double take when she saw Ronan but she didn’t say anything. Ronan knew he had been in the emergency room once before, on that night when the night horrors had done their worst, but he didn’t remember it. He hoped the nurse wouldn’t ask him about it, or about his current injuries. He had already explained, to the intake nurse, that he had accidentally hurt himself on a broken window. Not a lie, not really.

“Okay,” Raj murmured, securing a bandage and wrap on Ronan’s hand, “that should do it. You’ll have to be very careful for the next two weeks until we can take the stitches out. You’ve got a bag here, it has instructions on how to care for your stitches as well as a few bandages and ointment to get you started.”

Ronan nodded. The numbness and shock that had come over him after Noah had vanished was starting to recede. It left him feeling raw and close to tears.

Raj clapped a hand on Ronan’s shoulder and gave it a brief squeeze. “There’s also information about some people you can talk to.” He waited a moment before continuing. “You were very lucky, Ronan. That glass nearly sliced into your muscle. You could have crippled yourself. You could have been facing rehab, relearning how to use those hands again.”

Ronan met Raj’s eyes for a moment and was undone by the solemn look of concern in the doctor’s eyes. He looked away and nodded. His hands felt foreign, wrapped up in layers of gauze. He had been numbed and medicated but he could still feel the pain licking below the surface. _Crippled_.

“It was an accident,” Ronan repeated. “It won’t happen again.”

“Good.” Raj patted his shoulder once more and the nurse came to lead Ronan out. Gansey was waiting for him. He had taken care of whatever billing and paperwork was required; Ronan was in no condition to write or think rationally. All he wanted was to sleep and wake up yesterday, to get a cosmic reset. But the world didn’t work like that.

Gansey examined Ronan’s hands and read the care instructions. His silence was unnerving. Ronan wanted to shove his hands in his pockets but of course they wouldn’t fit. He thought about the two weeks of minor incapacitation and shuddered. It was all so fucking stupid. Could he really blame Gansey for being angry when he was so disgusted with himself?

The drive was tense, the scenery painted in mellow golden light, tingeing towards pink and red. What kind of world was this, where ghosts existed side by side with the living, where men stole from their dreams, and boys hunted kings? Why was the sunset still so fucking beautiful when Noah was dead— _murdered_? How could the mountains and forest hold so much wonder while a fucked up wannabe gangster held so much petty retribution? It didn’t make sense. Ronan felt the tension tearing away at him as he struggled to process the shocks of the last 24 hours, as well as the good, the incredibly good moments he had shared with Adam.

“Can you drop me off at Adam’s?” Ronan asked. He had to almost yell to be heard over the Pig’s host of noises.

Gansey’s mouth pinched in a tight frown but he nodded. Then he sighed, one hand moving up to tug at his hair. “We have to talk about this sometime,” Gansey said.

“Yeah,” Roan agreed. He didn’t have the energy just then. He didn’t want to fight with Gansey but he didn’t know how he could be totally honest with him and not mention Noah. It was a problem for another day.

Adam wasn’t home when they arrived but Ronan declined Gansey’s offer to take him to Monmouth and drive him back later. Already the impotence of not being able to use his hands was setting in hard. How was he supposed to drive like this? Ronan settled down on the steps to wait, trying not to flex his hands even though he was desperate to confirm that he could still do that much. _So fucking stupid_.

The sun finally set and the nighttime bugs came out, making a racket and biting. The heat had long ago made Ronan a sweaty, sticky mess and he was still grungy from camping. He sniffed self-consciously at his underarms and made a face. This was light years from how he had been when he picked Adam up at the start of the weekend. Ronan curled up on the steps and watched the fireflies wink on and off in the tall grass and around the spreading oak trees. He listened to the hum of cars. He waited.

Adam returned an untold amount of time later. He was on his bike, pedaling slowly, his form lost and found as he moved between the interspersed streetlights. Ronan stood, triggering the sensor lights outside the church. He didn’t want to frighten Adam.

Adam saw him and his pedaling sped up, he was grinning, tired yet happy. His smile slipped when he finally noticed the bandages on Ronan’s hands.

“Ronan! What happened?” Adam cried, flinging his bike to the ground and jogging to meet Ronan. “Your hands!” Adam pressed careful fingers to Ronan’s wrists, his thumbs tracing the sensitive skin.

“It was an accident,” Ronan assured him. “I can… can I tell you inside? I’m getting eaten alive out here.”

“What?” Adam’s eyes were dazed, troubled. Ronan tried to swat at a mosquito that had landed on his neck and Adam winced, moving forward to wave away the insect. “Yeah, let’s get inside.” He hastily locked up his bike and led Ronan up the stairs.

The apartment was warm but Adam switched on the window unit and lit some candles, conserving electricity. Ronan stood in the middle of the room feeling too gross to sit on the bed. Adam’s clothes were clean if sweaty but he had grease smudges on his cheek and neck, on his forearms. His hands, scrubbed though they were, still had grease lingering in the wrinkles on his knuckles, in the nail beds, and in the intricate whorls of his fingertips. He smelled like sweat and gasoline. And he was perfect. So goddamn perfect that it made Ronan’s chest ache.

“C’mon,” Adam said. He tugged on the bottom of Ronan’s shirt and pulled him into the tiny bathroom. They barely fit in the space. Adam pushed the shower curtain back and stepped into the tub. Ronan watched, baffled at first, until Adam took off his shirt and started unbuttoning his pants.

“Adam!” Ronan spun around and faced the wall. “What are you doing?!”

“Taking a shower.” Adam’s voice was heavy on the Henrietta accent, like it got when he was too tired to care.

“Well, why am _I_ in here? I can wait outside, it’s not like I’m that impatient to tell you what’s going on.”

Ronan felt a warm hand on his shoulder and he peeked behind him. His brain shorted out and he blinked twice as he tried to comprehend Adam being naked. Yes, he had seen Adam naked before but… but… _God._

“You can’t take a shower by yourself like that,” Adam said, pointing at Ronan’s hands. “And you definitely need one. I need one. Ergo, we’ll take one together. I can help you clean up _and_ we’ll conserve water. It’s a perfect solution.” Adam was trying so hard to keep a straight face but his lips kept twitching.

Ronan managed a small smile. “Conserving water, huh? Well, I’m all for saving the planet.”

“I thought you would say that,” Adam replied. “Come here, we gotta get you out of your, frankly, pungent garments.”

“ _Pungent garments?_ I didn’t know we were role-playing Shakespeare, Parrish.”

“Oh, we’re not. We’re Victorian role-playing. If we were doing Shakespeare I think I would refer to this,” he tugged Ronan’s shirt over his head, “as _rank weeds_.”

Ronan snickered. “Okay,” he laughed when Adam accidentally tickled his ribs. “Okay, I can do this… let’s see. _By all means, good sir, pray continue._ ”

“Your English accent is great!” Adam enthused. His hands were on Ronan’s fly. Ronan bit his lip and stared at the low ceiling.

“Your turn,” Ronan managed to say. He was trying to distract himself from Adam’s hands on his hips, the slow drag of denim against his thighs. He glanced down and helpfully kicked his way out of the jeans. He didn’t think he could do this. It already felt too intense, standing chest to chest with Adam. How was he supposed to keep it together in a situation like this? And how could he even be considering enjoying the experience when… when all this other shit was happening?

Adam turned on the shower while Ronan awkwardly pulled off his boxers and socks, adding them to the pile on the floor. He briefly wondered what he was going to wear back to Monmouth but the spray of warm water against his shoulder distracted him.

“Here,” Adam said, “hold your hands up over your head. That way the bandages won’t get wet.”

Ronan did as he was told, his fingertips grazing the ceiling. “I think—” Ronan swallowed and started again. “I think we’re supposed to wrap them up first.”

“Oh.” Adam was staring, quite blatantly, at Ronan’s chest. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ve got some bags and tape… I can go get them?” Adam moved to step out of the shower and Ronan started to reach for him, before he remembered that he couldn’t. His hands had to stay dry and even something as simple as touching Adam wasn’t possible.

Adam noticed Ronan’s movement and stayed put, his gaze caught in Ronan’s.

“It’s fine,” Ronan managed to say. “I won’t get them wet.” Adam smirked and Ronan blushed. “ _Jesus Christ_ , Adam, I didn’t mean like _that_.”

“Uh-huh,” Adam teased. “If you say so.” He grabbed the bar of soap and washcloth from the edge of the tub and held them under the shower, rubbing them together until he got a good lather. Biting his lip in concentration or restraint, he reached for Ronan. “Close your eyes,” he murmured. Ronan did as he was told and felt the rough texture of the cloth as Adam carefully wiped at his face, his ears and scalp and neck. “Okay. Lean your head down. Good. Hold still.” Handfuls of water trickled over his head and down his face. Adam’s fingers wiped around his eyes, clearing away the soap. “You’re good. You can stand up straight.”

Ronan blinked the water out of his eyes. Adam was concentrating on his shoulders and chest, still biting his lip. His tanned face was flushed. Ronan knew, much to his chagrin, that his face had been a deep pink for a while now, that his chest was following suit.

“Hey,” Ronan said, voice a bit shakey, “is this soap…”

“Irish Spring?” Adam interrupted. His eyes were dancing with humor. “Yes, yes, it is. Reminds me of you.”

“Oh my god,” Ronan groaned. _This boy_.

Adam was humming as he continued cleaning Ronan. At first Ronan thought it was nothing, just a sound to cut through the tension but no _it was that fucking tick song_.

“Adam!” Ronan yelped. “What the actual fuck?”

“I’m just checking for ticks,” Adam sang. How anyone could be so infuriating and sexy at the same time… “You need to turn around so I can get your back.”

Ronan grumbled but turned. It was a little easier since he couldn’t see Adam. Adam quickly scrubbed his back but then let his hands linger, tracing Ronan’s tattoo over his shoulders, across his back, down his spine.

“So cool,” Adam whispered.

Ronan desperately conjugated Latin in his mind for the rest of his shower time, realizing, much to his despair, that having his hands bandaged and practically immobilized for the next two weeks was going to be torture.

“You’re done!” Adam announced. Ronan waited while Adam quickly cleaned up and then dried both of them. It was so bizarre, standing in Adam’s bathroom, on their castoff clothing, wearing nothing at all. Ronan couldn’t quite process it as Adam wrapped the towel around him and hunted through his clothes for something that would fit him. In the end Ronan wore a pair of soft sweatpants and Adam opted for plaid boxers and his ragged Coca-Cola T-shirt.

Ronan sprawled on the bed while Adam made some of his Sweet Dreams tea. The apartment smelled even more like herbs and Adam explained his drying process. He told Ronan about how he had spent the day processing online orders and getting them ready to mail, how his shift at Boyd’s had been busy but productive. He brought the mugs of tea over and helped Ronan figure out how he was going to hold the mug without dropping it. Ronan again cursed his stupidity. This was going to be the longest two weeks of his life.

“So,” Adam started, “tell me what happened.”

Ronan set his tea down and leaned against the wall. Adam sat with his back against the other wall, his legs crossed Indian style. Ronan wanted nothing more than to put his head in Adam’s lap and go to sleep but this couldn’t wait any longer. He took a deep breath and told Adam about Kavinsky’s blackmail and texts, about how he and Gansey, Declan, Blue, Henry, and Jiang had started planning to stop K. Adam’s face had gone ominously blank when Ronan told him about the pictures but he didn’t say a word. Ronan found Adam’s fury to be remarkably reassuring.

“But that’s not why your hands are hurt,” Adam said, his tone gentle. His eyes were fixed on Ronan’s, compelling him to continue.

“Afterward…” Ronan shut his eyes and held his breath, working up the courage to say it. “I found out something… fucking awful. And I freaked out. Totally lost it. I thought I was going crazy. It was worse than a panic attack. Even now I just can’t…” Ronan put his head between his knees and coughed, trying to get that bad feeling out of his chest. Adam crawled over to him and draped himself over Ronan’s back. Ronan’s shoulders shook and he didn’t know if he was laughing or crying or just trembling.

“Don’t you get tired of this?” Ronan gasped. “Of me? I’m always losing my shit around you, Adam. Isn’t this exhausting? I can’t… I can’t imagine I’m worth all this drama.”

“Hey, hey,” Adam pulled at Ronan’s bare shoulders, nuzzled at the back of his neck until Ronan turned to face him. “Ronan, you are _not_ a burden. I’m not tired of you; I’ll never be tired of you. Hey, don’t frown like that. Look at me, look at where I came from. Ronan, we all have things that make our lives difficult, and we all struggle. But I am _happy_ to struggle beside you, okay? You’re leaning on me today, and God knows I’ll need to lean on you in the future. So… so don’t doubt me or yourself, alright?” Adam kissed Ronan’s jaw. “You can tell me anything and I won’t run.”

Ronan shuddered and tilted his head so that he could whisper into Adam’s ear, “Noah is dead.”

Adam’s body went rigid. “ _What_?”

“He told me he’s been dead for seven years. He’s a ghost, Adam.”

Ronan could feel Adam’s pulse accelerate, watched the blood drain from his face.

“You believe me?” Ronan asked.

“Yes.” The answer was terse, uncharacteristic of Adam. “I believe you because Noah is _hovering_ by my desk.”

Ronan jerked up, his heart tripping. It was true. Noah was levitating several inches off the floor, his outline flickering like a candle flame.

“Noah…” Ronan whispered. “What are you doing here?”

“You were talking about me.” The words had an eerie chime to them and Ronan felt a chill in the air that had nothing to do with Adam’s air conditioner. “I’m dead not deaf.” He looked from Adam to Ronan and a little bit of his usual humor crept in. “What did I tell you about laced fingers?” He gave Ronan a sly look. “Called it.” And then he was gone.

Adam stared at his desk before getting up and examining his entire apartment. Amazingly he didn’t look all that freaked out, he was handling this much better than Ronan had.

“Ghosts,” Adam murmured. “Maura sees them, Persephone, too. I don’t think there are many like Noah, though. I mean, we can all see him. There’s something else going on with him…” He shook his head, blinking sleepily.

The candlelight made Adam look even more lovely than usual. His damp hair curled around his ears and neck. The short boxers made him look like he was all legs. Ronan sighed again. Then he yawned.

Adam gave Ronan a tight smile. “I’m exhausted, too,” he admitted. “Let’s get some sleep before the next catastrophe strikes. Scoot over.”

Ronan moved until he was pressed to the wall while Adam blew out most of the candles, leaving one burning. He got into bed and curled up next to Ronan.

Ronan had his hands pulled up over his chest; it was not very comfortable.

“I feel like a vampire,” he muttered. Adam laughed and lightly kissed Ronan’s fingertips, then his lips, once, twice, and a third time before settling back.

“A cute vampire,” Adam murmured. “Just don’t bite. I’m borderline anemic.”

Ronan rolled his eyes and yawned again. Despite being exhausted they talked sleepily for over an hour, their conversation losing focus and becoming more and more ridiculous. At some point they fell asleep, legs tangled together, and dreamed.


	28. Chapter 28

The following morning Ronan woke up with his nose buried in Adam’s hair, one arm slung over Adam’s hip and the other awkwardly pinned under his head. The stinging pain in his hands made him wish that he had remained asleep.

During the night the sheets had been kicked to the foot of the bed but Ronan still felt overly warm, especially with Adam’s back against his chest. The early morning light was creeping in through the slits in the blinds. Adam’s apartment had an ethereal charm about it: herbs and wildflowers hung in bundles, drying slowly; the desk was tidy and looked like it belonged to an apothecary; the potted plants on the windowsill trailed vines down the walls or shot up towards the ceiling. All that was missing was a familiar…

Adam shifted, rolling over onto his back and blinking up at Ronan. He had purple bags under his eyes and pillow creases on his cheek. His hair was a mess and the Coca-Cola t-shirt had rucked up over his stomach. In other words, he looked adorable.

“Morning,” Ronan murmured. His hand had fallen over Adam’s stomach, his skin warm and soft against Ronan’s fingers and wrist. Moving oh so slowly, Ronan trailed his fingertips in circles around Adam’s belly button, watching the way Adam’s stomach contracted, how a blush built on his cheeks and his breathing grew shallow. Adam gripped at the mattress cover with both hands and bit his lip, eyes desperately seeking out Ronan’s.

“G-god,” Adam stuttered, feet digging into the sheets, back arching up just the tiniest bit.

“Well, close,” Ronan teased. He loved seeing Adam like this, he especially loved it when he could get Adam to swear. It was his top priority for the morning.

Sometime later they both made it out of bed. Adam set about making breakfast. He didn’t have a great setup for cooking but he made it work. That could be his motto, Ronan mused, watching shirtless Adam prepare oatmeal over a hotplate, “Adam Parrish: I Make It Work.” What other sixteen year old had their own apartment, their own business, two jobs and a phenomenal amount of survival and self-care knowledge. If someone had asked Ronan to make oatmeal he would have been hopeless. Okay, maybe not. They sold the dinosaur oatmeal packs that you just add water to and pop in the microwave; he could absolutely manage that.

Adam was humming and it sounded suspiciously like the tick song. Ronan chucked a dirty sock at him but Adam dodged it. He smirked over his shoulder. The smirk was ridiculously hot and Ronan glared at him because it wasn’t fair that his boyfriend was so… so… perfect.

Ronan strolled over and sat on the edge of the desk and let Adam spoon-feed him some oatmeal. Adam blew on it for a few seconds to cool it down before pushing it between Ronan’s lips.

“What do you think? More cinnamon? Honey? Dried blueberries?”

Ronan made a _mrph_ noise and chewed slowly, savoring all the different flavors.

“Damn,” he muttered. “How did you make oats and water taste so good?”

Adam smiled triumphantly and gave him a brief kiss. “Baby, I was born this way,” he sang and did a small dance move that had Ronan grabbing onto the side of the desk for dear life.

“You were born with an innate knowledge of cooking oatmeal? How, uh, awesome.”

“Oh, just because I wasn’t born taking daisies from my dreams,” Adam tickled Ronan’s ribs and glanced significantly at the vase of daisies on the crowded windowsill.

Ronan shrugged sheepishly. The flowers were a product of a brief morning nap. He sort of remembered the dream. The girl who haunted his dreams had been picking flowers in a field. She gave them to Ronan and said, in her peculiar language, that he should give them to his boyfriend. Ronan didn’t know how he felt about the dream girl knowing about Adam. He had always thought of her as being apart from him but she was a product of his sleeping mind so… Ronan shook his head. It wasn’t the time to try and parse the logic of dreams.

Adam whistled and dished up the oatmeal. They had just sat down on the floor, backs resting against the bed, when there was a knock on the door. Adam sighed and set his bowl down, got up and walked over to see who it was. He only opened the door a crack, hiding his mostly naked body from whoever was daring to disturb them.

“Oh, hi Gansey,” Adam said, his voice losing his Henrietta drawl and becoming almost flat. Ronan had been noticing this, how Adam picked his accent to suit whoever he was talking to, like he was trying to impress. Ronan didn’t understand it. He liked Adam best when he was his most authentic self.

“Adam,” Gansey sounded like a senator, or the son of a senator. “Good to see you. Is Ronan still here?”

“Ah, yes, he is.” Ronan was so fucking touched that Adam had yet to ask Gansey in, that he was waiting until Ronan said it was okay.

“Adam,” Ronan said quietly, “it’s fine.” Adam looked back at him, his brow furrowed. He mouthed the words _are you sure?_ Ronan nodded firmly. He might as well get this over with. And Adam’s presence might take the edge off Gansey’s sometimes strident pronouncements.

“We were just about to eat breakfast,” Adam said, polite as ever. “Why don’t you come in?”

Adam opened the door and Gansey stepped in. He looked like he hadn’t slept at all, his eyes dark with shadows. He had even condescended to wear his glasses. His hair was still immaculate though, much like his pressed salmon colored shorts and blindingly white Polo. The ragged boat shoes were the only mark of Gansey’s inherent eccentric tendencies.

Gansey’s eyes darted around, like he wasn’t sure what to look at first: the apartment or Adam and Ronan, both half-dressed and relaxed. The bed was in shambles; the door to the bathroom was wide open revealing their pile of castoff clothes. Gansey looked from Adam to Ronan to the bed and back.

“Well.” It was all Gansey could manage.

Adam grinned at Ronan and sauntered back to the desk to put the kettle on. Ronan watched as Gansey’s eyes followed Adam, as he saw, for the first time, the scars that crossed Adam’s back. Gansey frowned deeply and shot a furtive look at Ronan. Ronan schooled his face to give nothing away; that wasn’t his story to tell.

“Do you drink Irish Breakfast?” Adam asked Gansey, his tone completely innocent but Ronan caught the edge of a naughty smirk tugging at his lips. Ronan rolled his eyes, making sure that Adam noticed.

“Yes, definitely,” Gansey said. He was busy studying Adam’s plants, running a finger over the firm succulents. “We missed you at the market this weekend. It wasn’t the same. I had to buy some of the tea that Blue’s mother makes. Between you and me it tastes, ah, a bit strong.”

Ronan snorted. “A bit strong? I think my chest hairs multiplied after drinking that shit.”

Gansey tsked. “I can see that.” He stared pointedly at Ronan’s bare chest. “Sadly it had no such effect on me.”

Adam chuckled and sat back down next to Ronan, close enough that their bare legs pressed together. Ronan nudged him with his elbow as he ate the cooling oatmeal.

“I would offer you some,” Adam said apologetically to Gansey, “but I only made enough for two.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about it. I’m going to meet Henry for brunch later.” Gansey patted his flat stomach and crouched down across from Ronan and Adam. He smiled hesitantly. “So the thing is,” he paused. Ronan wasn’t used to seeing Gansey look like this, unsure, doubting. “The thing is, Ronan, I owe you an apology.”

Ronan almost spat out his mouthful of oatmeal. He choked and tried to swallow it, eyes watering. Adam patted his back.

Once Ronan had regained his composure Gansey continued. “I stayed up all night thinking about the things I said to you yesterday. And I was wrong. No matter what I think, it was wrong to put that on you, especially after everything that happened. I’m sorry, Ronan. I shouldn’t have doubted you, I shouldn’t have kicked you when you were down.”

Ronan stared at his bowl of oatmeal, willing the tears to _not_ fall. He took some deep breaths. His hands tingled and burned, the pain dulled by medication.

“That’s—” Ronan’s voice came out thick and hoarse, scarcely understandable. “That’s okay, Gansey.” Adam elbowed him. “I mean, I accept your apology. Of course.” He glanced up and swallowed hard because _goddamnit_ Gansey was crying!

“Oh shit. Gansey. C’mon. Don’t…just stop crying, okay? It’s fine.” Gansey hiccupped and wiped at his eyes.

“I just… I couldn’t sleep. I sat in your room looking at the blood and the window. And Noah never came home either.” Gansey sniffed and blinked rapidly. “I thought that I had finally managed to push you all away.” His voice was quiet and strained.

“No.” Ronan got up and knelt in front of Gansey, placing his injured hands on his friend’s shoulders. “You didn’t push me away, Gansey. I needed space. I don’t think… I wouldn’t have been able to sleep in that room. Not right now. And I wanted to see Adam. And yeah, okay, I was fucking hurt by what you said but I’m over it.” He wasn’t but he would be. “So stop crying. You gotta look pretty for Henry.”

Gansey laughed and sobbed at the same time. He took off his glasses and scrubbed at his face.

Adam watched them with a fond expression, getting up when the kettle started whistling. He poured the water into the teapot Ronan had dreamt for him and perched on the edge of the desk, swinging his legs back and forth. It was distracting.

“I’m glad to see y’all are _finally_ making up.”

Gansey’s head jerked up in surprise. Adam and Ronan exchanged a Look.

Noah was sitting cross-legged on Adam’s bed, hands behind him propping his weight up. Ronan thought about that again: what weight? He had fucking carried Noah before and knew that he weighed _something_ and yet… there was no dip in the mattress. Ronan had the creeping thought that Noah’s weight and seeming corporeality was a product of his mind, not reality.

“Noah?” Gansey’s tanned face had gone dramatically pale. Ghostly, even. “When did you… how are you…” He looked to Ronan, eyes wide and confused. “What’s going on?”

Noah smiled sadly and sat up, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Coming out never gets any easier,” he mumbled.

Ronan scoffed loudly. Even Adam managed an amused eye roll. Gansey looked at the three of them, growing more perplexed by the moment.

“I already know about… that,” Gansey hedged, his voice uncertain like he was missing out on a joke.

“Bless you, Gansey,” Noah laughed. “I know _you_ know. It’s just… there’s no easy way to say this.”

Noah shrugged and then vanished. It was so unexpected that even Ronan and Adam flinched. Gansey gasped, his mouth hanging open as he stared at the empty bed. Before he had time to ask a question Noah materialized in front of him, kneeling on the floorboards, his nose inches from Gansey’s face. Gansey screamed.

Which was a completely valid reaction even if it did seem to hurt Noah’s feelings. What followed was a short explanation followed by an intense interrogation. Gansey, of course, believed that Noah was a ghost. The evidence of his own eyes could not be ignored. However, while Noah had avoided Ronan’s questions about his death— _his murder_ —Gansey would not accept his silence.

Adam passed around mugs of tea while Gansey questioned Noah and Noah, very reluctantly, gave up some truths about himself. They learned that he had been killed by his friend, Barrington Whelk, in a ritual to wake the ley lines.

“Whelk? You don’t mean the Aglionby professor who died in a drunk driving accident last year?”

Noah nodded soberly. Whelk had died on the anniversary of Noah’s murder, after he had visited the scene of the crime and gotten completely trashed and then tried to drive home. He hit a deer driving back and lost control of the car, which flipped several times before wrapping around a tree. He was pronounced dead at the scene.

“Jesus,” Gansey murmured. “Noah, I… I don’t know what to say.”

Noah stared at the ground. His form looked a little blurrier than usual. “You don’t have to say anything,” he whispered. “I just don’t want you guys to treat me any different.”

Gansey was quick to assure him that of course they wouldn’t but Ronan interrupted him. “Listen, Noah, I sure as shit am treating you different. First of all, we’re going to have to do a bunch of ghost experiments. For science.”

Noah grinned winningly and floated over to Ronan, settling down on his lap. Ronan blushed and peeked at Adam who was looking not so pleased.

“Not _those_ kinds of experiments, you perv,” Ronan scolded. Noah laughed, loud and bright, seeming, for just a moment, more real than any of them.

“I like science,” Adam said with feigned innocence.

Ronan winked at him. “I know you do, Parrish.”

“Oh my god,” Gansey groaned. “That’s my cue. You crazy kids have fun.” He got up and brushed off his spotless shorts. “Time for mimosas with Henry.”

“Have fun!” Ronan said with exaggerated cheer.

Ronan walked Gansey to the door and leaned on the railing of the small porch. It was sort of spectacular to be like this: shirtless and rumpled, standing outside his boyfriend’s apartment, staring at the church where he spent his Sunday mornings. Ronan watched Gansey go, feeling unbearably glad to have patched things up.

He didn’t notice the white Mitsubishi parked down the street, hidden in the shadows of the oak trees.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: This chapter is pure suffering. Trigger warning for verbal abuse, panic attack, and fighting.

The morning passed far too quickly. Ronan lazed around on Adam’s bed while Adam worked, mixing blends, putting labels on tins, packaging orders. Adam left to wash their dirty clothes in the old washing machine that the church kept downstairs in the back room of the office. Ronan’s bandages were changed. His hands still looked the same: torn, inflamed, and pieced back together with black stitches. Ronan wanted to stay at Adam’s all day but Adam had to go to work and the air conditioning didn’t do much to keep the attic room cool.

They parted ways in the church parking lot. Adam gave Ronan a tight hug and a quick peck on the lips before pedaling off on his bike. Ronan watched him go feeling like a bit of his heart was leaving. Adam Parrish was the best thing that had ever happened to him; he hoped that he could hold on to him, that he wouldn’t fuck things up.

The walk back to Monmouth wasn’t long but it was hot, hot, hot. And bright as fuck. Ronan held a hand up over his eyes and squinted, picking up his pace so he could reach the cool shade cast by the trees that lined the road. He should have called Gansey to give him a ride, anything other than sweating like this. His scalp felt like it was burning to a crisp.

He was nearly back to Monmouth, just two blocks away, when he heard the unmistakable sound of the Mitsubishi, the roar of the engine and the throbbing bass from Kavinsky’s loud and provocative music. Ronan had one moment to think _Oh shit_ before Kavinsky was there, screeching to a crawl beside Ronan.

The windows were rolled down, the scent of smoke drifted from the car as the music was turned down and he heard that familiar voice…

“Hey, fuckboy.”

 _God._ He had not missed this. At all.

Ronan kept walking, eyes forward, as the Mitsubishi prowled beside him. He fervently wished that someone would drive by, preferably the police or Gansey, forcing K to move on.

“I see you’re shacking up with a local.” Ronan kept his mouth shut. “That’s fine, that’s fine. We both know who you _really_ belong to.” He was so close to being home.

“Is he any good?” Kavinsky drawled. “Does he know what you like? Hands around your pretty neck? You always wanted it rough. Can’t imagine that vanilla hippy trailer trash _boy_ can make you happy. What’s his name again?” Ronan couldn’t breath. “ _Adam?_ ” It was a perfect imitation of Adam’s accent.

Ronan whirled around, ready to obliterate Kavinsky. He clenched his fists. Hard. It was a mistake. The pain stole his breath, made him see stars for a moment. The world tilted. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_.

“Lynch?”

Without realizing it Ronan had stopped, head bowed, eyes closed, like he could just make Kavinsky go away by denying his existence. His hands trembled uselessly. A car door opened, the pinging noise alerting Ronan moments before rough palms shoved him against the side of the car, K’s forearm braced against his chest pinning him. He was in no condition to fight. His hands—but he still had his heavy boots, his teeth, he wasn’t helpless.

Kavinsky was staring at him, his customary white sunglasses pushed up into his slicked back hair; his lips were drawn down in a heavy frown.

“What happened to you?” It was nearly a whisper, yet menacing all the same.

“The fuck do you care,” Ronan snarled. He tried maneuvering out from under Kavinsky’s arm but Kavinsky responded by applying more pressure, leaning in closer until he was almost plastered to Ronan. Ronan felt his skin crawl, a chill seeping into his core. “Back the fuck up.” His words were clear, unmistakable. Kavinsky didn’t move.

“I want to know what happened to your hands.”

There was something about his voice that brought back all those nights and stolen moments, when Ronan had thought he had found his answer, when he thought he had found someone who would either save him or damn him and he hadn’t cared, he’d only wanted to hurt and burn. And Kavinsky had done that. But there were boundaries crossed and betrayal and the plummet into an abyss so deep that Ronan still didn’t know how he had crawled out. All of this. He felt all of this as Kavinsky grabbed his wrist and tore away the layers of gauze, letting them fall to the dirty pavement.

The wounds were raw and vulnerable and Ronan didn’t dare to yank his arm back, worried that the fingers lightly touching the stitches would inflict further damage. He felt the sting of salty fingertips pressed onto the red lines, felt tears prick the corner of his eyes. He couldn’t breath. He couldn’t speak.

“Nightmare?” Kavinsky’s voice was a rasp. But Ronan couldn’t answer; he was already slipping away. “What the fuck did you do, Lynch? Did you do this to yourself?” Kavinsky was growling, like he did whenever Ronan dreamed about him. “Talk to me!” Heavy weight against his chest and fingers on his neck and mouth like they could pry the words from him by force. Ronan choked.

And then window of the Mitsubishi shattered, first the passenger side window, then the windshield, then all of them, glass bursting inward, away from the boys. Kavinsky let go of Ronan, whirling around, looking for whoever was responsible. Ronan fell to his knees, barely stopping himself from bracing his hands against the ground. He coughed and coughed, bile crawling up his throat.

Cool hands on his neck and back. Cool hands that had soothed him after his tattoo, after his nightmares.

“I got you, I got you,” Noah murmured, so quiet and close.

Kavinsky was swearing, loud and aggressive. He kicked something, probably the bumper.

“What the fuck? You got snipers out there, Lynch? Or did your guardian angel finally decide to stop dicking around?”

Ronan shuddered.

“It’s doing a shitty job, FYI. Can’t even stop you from—” Kavinsky shut up, briefly. Perhaps too angry to come up with the proper words. He didn’t acknowledge Noah, who was hunkered down next to Ronan. Was Noah invisible to him?

“I don’t _get_ you, Lynch. You have all that fucking Catholic guilt and you’re banging the guy who lives next to your church? Are you trying to go to hell? Or is it just some messed up kink you got?” Kavinsky squatted down in front of Ronan, his face tinged with an angry flush, his usually glassy eyes sharp and lucid. He grabbed Ronan’s chin, tilting his head back. “You could have said,” his voice was hoarse and dry, heavy with wanting. “You could have said and I would have laid you out on the altar and given it to you so good you wouldn’t be able to stand.”

Ronan felt the words on a physical level, like a kick to the gut and, without warning, his body seized and he vomited. Vomited onto Kavinsky’s hand and shoes, his own boots as well. This time when he fell forward his palms smacked the gritty, hot asphalt and the agony made him throw up again, until he was heaving.

He didn’t know what Kavinsky was doing or saying or what was happening because there was a ringing in his ears and spots dancing in front of his eyes and he felt so hot and feverish and cold at the same time. Shaky and teeth chattering and a mess. _God why am I such a fucking mess?_

Someone hauled him to his feet, got an arm around his waist. He was lowered onto a cool seat.

“Breathe with me. You’re nearly home, Ronan. Take it easy. We got you.” _Jiang_.

Voices were yelling and then the unmistakable sound of a fight. Ronan opened his eyes and lifted his head, turning to peer out of the window to see…

…to see Declan beating Kavinsky’s ass.

Declan knew how to fight, knew how to make every punch and slap and kick count. He didn’t hesitate as he deliberately and systematically took Kavinsky apart. Jiang leaned over from the driver’s seat and watched, his face blank but his eyes troubled.

“He won’t go too far, will he?” he asked Ronan.

Kavinsky was on the hood of the Mitsubishi, his face and neck bloody, bruises blooming on his skin. His sunglasses were smashed on the ground. Declan landed another punch and blood splattered across the slick white paint. There was the dull thud of Kavinsky’s skull ricocheting off the hood. Kavinsky groaned and twitched but didn’t get back up. Declan stood over him, shoulders heaving. His back was turned so Ronan couldn’t see his face but he heard his words just fine.

“Stay away from my family. If you get near Ronan, if you communicate with him in any way, I will finish this and you won’t be walking away. Do you understand?”

A moan, muffled, garbled.

“Speak up.” This was a Declan that Ronan didn’t know existed. He was a little terrified.

“I understand. Fuck! You knocked out my tooth.”

Ronan didn’t hear what Declan said next, he was too quiet, but as Declan stalked towards Jiang’s car Ronan caught a glimpse of K’s beaten face and he looked… stunned. Shaken.

Declan got into the backseat, closing the door carefully.

“Drive.”

Jiang put the car in gear and less than thirty seconds later they were parked outside Monmouth. Jiang’s hands were glued to the steering wheel and he looked ill.

“Declan. Are you alright?” Jiang stared at Declan’s reflection in the rearview mirror. Ronan turned in his seat and stared, too. Stared at this boy who had, quietly and suddenly, become a man. How had he missed that transition?

Declan’s hands and forearms were bloody, his knuckles busted and bleeding but most of the gore on his skin had come from Kavinsky. He flexed his hands, examining them, before looking at Ronan.

“I’m fine, Jiang. Ronan, what about you? Did he hurt you?”

Ronan shook his head but Declan clearly didn’t believe him.

“It’s alright if you can’t tell me now. Let’s get you inside and cleaned up. Jiang, you coming?”

Jiang didn’t hesitate. He got out of the car and followed the brothers up the stairs and into Monmouth.

Gansey was gone, probably still on a date with Henry. Declan guided Ronan to the bathroom and, after washing the blood off his arms and hands, proceeded to wipe the vomit off Ronan’s face. Jiang brought them both water and stood in the doorway and watched as Declan disinfected Ronan’s palm and rebandaged it. He checked the other hand, which was fine, but he changed the gauze anyway.

The three of them went out and sat on the couch, Declan sitting forward, his elbows resting on his knees, the glass held carefully in his bruised and swollen hands. Jiang sat on the other side of him, his arm draped along the back of the couch like he desperately wanted to wrap it around Declan but he knew it wasn’t the right time.

Ronan felt exhausted. He slumped back and stared at the ceiling. Noah drifted in and settled beside him. Declan and Jiang registered his appearance but didn’t react as if anything was different. Ronan supposed people saw what they expected to see.

“Will you tell them?” Ronan asked Noah. Noah nodded and caressed Ronan’s forehead with his cold hand, easing a little of his raging headache.

So Noah told them. Everything that Kavinsky had done. Everything he said. Declan looked furious and Jiang looked sick.

“I tried to help,” Noah explained plaintively.

Ronan leaned into him. “You did, Noah. You distracted him, stalled him. You did a good job.”

Declan stood and walked to the window, the view of Henrietta stretching out before them. His arms were braced on the sill and the angry line of his shoulders, silhouetted against the horizon, made him appear godlike and wrathful.

“I told him,” Declan said. “I told him _just yesterday_. That I would murder him if he got in contact with you again. Apparently that wasn’t good enough.” He turned to look at them. “I have contacts. People who take care of this sort of thing. He’s not getting another warning.” Declan’s gaze landed on Jiang and he swallowed. “I’m sorry, Jiang.”

Jiang bowed his head and murmured, “Me too.” Several moments passed before he added, “I tried as well, Ronan. I talked to him; I thought he understood that he was _hurting_ you. I thought he would care.”

Even then Ronan knew that Kavinsky did care. And that was the problem. If Kavinsky could stop caring—or obsessing or fixating, he would be able to move on. But Ronan was the stumbling block Kavinsky wouldn’t move on from, not until he got what he wanted. And what he wanted was his kingdom of vices and pleasures and a king of equal power to keep him company, to challenge him but never surpass him. Ronan wouldn’t be that king; he didn’t want that kingdom. Somewhere on his road out of crippling pain and self-loathing he had found a golden thread of light and that light had led, one day after the next, to Adam. He didn’t want a king or a god—he wanted Adam.

“Who’s your contact?” Ronan asked Declan.

“A man who calls himself Mr. Grey.”


	30. Chapter 30

Ronan had not been aware that hitmen made house calls but then he hadn’t known that his older brother had a contract killer in his list of contacts either.

Mr. Grey didn’t look like a mercenary. His clothing and grooming suggested that he might be a back to the farm hipster who brewed his own beer, baked his own bread, and grew herbs in his kitchen. Honestly, who else wore flannel plaid during the summer?

The only indication that Mr. Grey was more than he appeared was his eyes: narrow and dark and still, like a placid lake of untold depths. He took in everything with a cool, unblinking remove. It was almost like he had to remind himself to blink or fidget; otherwise he would be as still as a sharp-toothed predator, waiting patiently in the shadows for its prey. Ronan shivered and looked away.

Adam padded out from the kitchen/bathroom carrying a tray laden with mugs of tea and scones. Only Adam would think to provide refreshment for a clandestine meeting with an assassin. Adam set the tray down on a makeshift table of books and boxes and passed a mug to Ronan, his fingers sliding over the back of Ronan’s hand, brushing the padded bandages. He handed a mug to Mr. Grey who accepted it with an eager grin that broke down the icy wall that enveloped him.

“Thanks, Adam,” Mr. Grey said. “I’m getting spoiled—tea and scones from my favorite market vendor.”

Adam blushed and sat next to Ronan on the couch, leaning against him. “Sure! I, uh, what I mean—um, it’s n-nothing,” Adam stammered, his fingers plucking nervously at the couch.

Mr. Grey smiled and sipped his tea, reclining in Gansey’s desk chair, one ankle crossed over his knee. Ronan looked from him to Adam and back, noticing the way Adam’s eyes darted from Mr. Grey’s face to his hands to his chest, like he couldn’t look at him. At first Ronan thought he was simply intimidated by being in the presence of someone who killed people for a living but now—

 _“Someone has a crush,”_ Ronan whispered into Adam’s ear. Adam’s face flushed and he elbowed Ronan’s side. _“I’m jealous,”_ Ronan added, just so he could watch the blush spread to the tips of Adam’s ears.

Declan and Jiang arrived, disrupting the moment. Jiang looked a little disheveled but he was smiling, his fingertips brushing Declan’s as they took their places on the couch.

“Sorry I’m a little late,” Declan began, speaking in his best politician’s voice, “I was busy doing things.”

“I’m things!” Jiang announced. Declan shot him an scandalized look but Jiang just beamed. Ronan rolled his eyes and Adam laughed, Mr. Grey graced them all with a politely bemused expression and sipped his tea, eyebrows raised.

“Thanks for that,” Declan muttered. He grabbed two mugs of tea off the tray and handed one to Jiang.

“Just doing my part to ease some of the tension,” Jiang replied. He was entirely too smiley for a planning session about permanently solving the problem of Joseph Kavinsky.

Declan shook his head once but he was smiling fondly. “It was a good try,” Declan replied. “Alright, you all got to know each other?” Adam, Ronan, and Mr. Grey eyed each other and nodded warily. “Good. Ronan, due to the nature of our meeting I had to tell Mr. Grey and Jiang about your dreaming, and K’s. Jiang pretty much knew already, or had guessed. Mr. Grey, for reasons that will be explained, also had an clue about what was happening.”

Ronan scowled. At this point half of Henrietta would know about his abilities. How had his father managed to keep a secret for his entire life? All it took was Kavinsky getting under his skin and now he had a roomful of people discussing problematic dreamers.

“I have some questions before we begin,” Adam said. He was gripping his mug like a lifeline, his eyes skirting nervously around Mr. Grey.

“Of course,” Mr. Grey said. He set down his tea and sat forward, elbows on his knees, fingers tented in front of his face like a goddamned professor. Ronan had questions too, like who the hell was this guy and how did Declan know him?

“Well, uh, I guess the most obvious question,” Adam fumbled for words, “I thought you were a bee keeper? Is that just a front?”

Mr. Grey nodded, his wavy hair flopping across his forehead; he brushed it back with an idle gesture. Ronan noticed the glint of silvery grey hairs mixed in with the thick, dark brown. He had that effortless masculine charm and Ronan suddenly _got_ how Adam had developed a crush on the older man.

“The bee keeping is my hobby,” Mr. Grey explained. His voice was low and dark and oddly soothing, like if the monster that lived under your bed read you stories instead of trying to terrorize you. “Up until a few years ago I was working as a hitman. I’m retired now. I found that Henrietta, among other things, is a wonderful place to keep bees so I stayed.”

“Stayed?” Ronan asked, voice heavy with suspicion. “Why did you come in the first place?”

Mr. Grey looked to Declan. Declan’s face was drawn and tired, his shoulders set in a tense line. “I came because of your father,” Mr. Grey said quietly. His eyes didn’t leave Ronan’s. “I was given his name and a contract to kill him.” There was a weighty pause; Ronan felt like all the air had been sucked out of his lungs. _No._  

“I came here and I observed. I saw a man with three sons and a wife. I saw a family hidden away in their own world. And I saw the chaos that would follow if I fulfilled my contract. I walked away.” The cadence of his words was slow, measured, heavy. “I warned your father but… it wasn’t enough. I’m sorry.”

Ronan made a low, hurt noise and sagged back against the couch. Adam wrapped an arm around his waist, holding him. _He had known. Their father had known and still—_ “Why?” The question was directed at Declan, not Mr. Grey, the word ravaged with grief. “Why didn’t he tell us? Why did someone want him dead?”

Declan reached for Ronan, palm shaking and unsure. When Ronan didn’t smack his hand away Declan placed it on Ronan’s shoulder and squeezed.

“Dad made a lot of enemies,” he explained, his voice hoarse. “He traded dream objects, though of course his buyers didn’t know that was what he was selling. He double-crossed buyers: promising one item to a buyer and then selling it to someone else for more. He had a monopoly on strange, magical items, things that _shouldn’t_ exist. He could manipulate the market as he saw fit, he could be a bastard and an asshole and what could his buyers do but grit their teeth and pay?” Declan’s hand squeezed, hard, his jaw set in long unresolved frustration. “Eventually, someone got tired of his games. He offended the wrong party and they had him killed.”

“Greenmantle,” Mr. Grey murmured. The brothers stared at him, wearing matching expressions of grief and anger. “The man who ordered the hit is Colin Greenmantle. Don’t bother going after him. He’s impossibly protected. I had to perform some rather Herculean feats just so he would let me leave his employ.”

Ronan clenched his fists, an unconscious movement that resulted in a sharp jab of pain, the wounds on his hands signaling to his brain _stop stop stop_. Ronan winced and straightened out his fingers, resting his damaged palms on the couch cushions. Adam noticed and bumped his forehead against Ronan’s shoulder; his slender fingers gently moving up Ronan’s arm from his wrist to his elbow, and then back down.

“How did you find out about Mr. Grey?” Ronan asked. His brain was struggling to process everything: his father’s risky business practices, enemies who plotted his death, _Greenmantle_.

“I looked through dad’s things, after. He had saved the text from Mr. Grey, sent anonymously, of course, and had managed to track down the sender. It was all in his phone.”

“I thought that thing was so protected not even the NSA could hack it,” Ronan protested. Declan shrugged uncomfortably. “What.” Ronan demanded.

“He may have told me how to unlock it, in case the worst happened.” Declan wouldn’t meet Ronan’s gaze, his fingers nervously tracing the lip of the mug, his knee jigging up and down.

“What the fuck,” Ronan hissed and glared at Declan. _He_ was supposed to be the favorite son, not Declan, _he_ was the one his father should have told his secrets to.

“He didn’t want you to know, not yet,” Declan explained, so quiet that Ronan had to pay close attention to his words. “You worshiped the ground his walked on, Ronan. He didn’t want to disillusion you—”

“But it was okay for him to tell _you_?!”

Declan grimaced. “We both know that he loved you best.” Declan sighed heavily, his posture slumping. “Dad was grooming me to be an associate, someone who could handle negotiations with buyers, keep track of the business end of things while he dreamed and created. So yes, he trusted me with details that he didn’t relay to you but Ronan, it wasn’t because he didn’t think you were worthy. He didn’t tell you because he was trying to protect you.”

“That’s such bullshit,” Ronan muttered. His fingertips were tingling, the blood flow hampered by the tight bandages on his hands. His anger sparked hot and incendiary and for once it wasn’t directed at Declan, but at their father. “God, how old were you when he started this, what was the word? Grooming? When did that happen?”

Declan frowned, his arms wrapping around his torso as he leaned forward. Jiang placed a hand on his back, holding it there in a show of solidarity.

“I was fifteen.”

“Christ,” Ronan swore.

Mr. Grey shifted in his chair, eyeing them with a mournful expression. “I failed you both,” he murmured.

“Ha,” Ronan bite out a caustic laugh. “It sounds to me like you gave our old man a fair warning and he _still_ got himself killed. He failed us, not you.” The hurt and anger were taking over and Ronan didn’t know how to process it. He had never felt angry at the memory of his father, never. But he didn’t know what to do with this truth of Niall Lynch, schemer and manipulator, alongside his revered image of a loving father. Loving fathers shouldn’t place their problems on their teenage son and expect him to shoulder that burden alone. Because that was what Declan had done: he had kept Niall’s secrets, he had made sure the will was carried out, he had done his best to keep Ronan and Matthew in school, even when Ronan had given him nothing but hateful, bitter words… _Christ_.

“Lets table this for now,” Declan said. Already his tone was shifting from vulnerable to reserved as he put up the walls he needed to keep functioning. Ronan had never understood those walls, the hard, cold distance that had descended after their father’s murder, but he had an inkling now of their purpose. He regretted every nasty word he had yelled at Declan, every punch and slap and kick. “We’re getting off track. Mr. Grey is here to help us decide how to handle Kavinsky.”

Silence descended, heavy and ponderous as the four boys looked at each other and then at the assassin. Ronan felt like the room was closing in around him because it was one thing to wish another harm; it was something else to _plot_ it.

“I don’t want you to kill him,” Ronan blurted. He felt his cheeks flush as the others stared at him. “He doesn’t deserve to die.”

“Ronan—” Declan started but Ronan cut him off.

“I know, I know. I know what he’s done. Fuck, if anyone would know it’s me but you don’t just murder someone for that!” When Declan had first made the decision to bring Mr. Grey in Ronan hadn’t been in a good place to say yes or no but in the days since he had thought about it and decided that _permanently_ ending Kavinsky was not a solution he could live with.

“I never said that I was going to kill him,” Mr. Grey said softly. “I don’t kill children, I never did and I won’t start now.”

Declan sighed audibly and Jiang relaxed, looking like a weight had been lifted from him.

“I’m glad,” Jiang spoke up. He looked directly at Ronan. “I was appalled by what Kavinsky said to you that day, what he did. I think, I think all this time I didn’t _want_ to believe that he had,” Jiang swallowed nervously, “that he had taken advantage like you said he did. But then I saw the pictures and I heard him and—” Jiang shook his head angrily. “That’s not the Kavinsky I know, Ronan. I don’t know why he’s so horrible to you but I can’t deny that he is and I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I wish I could change him, that we could change him—”

This time it was Declan comforting Jiang, pulling him into a tight hug, pressing a kiss against the top of his head. “We’re not blaming you,” Declan murmured. “No one is responsible for Kavinsky’s actions except for Kavinsky.”

Ronan didn’t say what he was thinking, what had tormented him in the late hours of the night when his nightmares returned with a vengeance and he woke up wrecked and gasping. He didn’t say that he agonized over that night, poking at the blank space from when he blacked out, frustrated that he had no way to refute or affirm Kavinsky’s narrative of what happened. Had he said yes? He didn’t know. What had he done? He didn’t know. But he was there for the fallout, for every single ugly interaction he had had with Kavinsky since that night. He had seen the pictures. Maybe, if K had accepted responsibility and apologized and not been such a fucking asshole, they could have found resolution but that wasn’t what happened. Rejection made Kavinsky a cruel, vicious monster and Ronan was done being his victim.

“Declan’s right,” Ronan rasped. He cleared his throat and shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.

“What we need,” Adam said, his Henrietta accent coming on strong because he was on edge, “is an intervention.” He glanced at Mr. Grey, eyebrow cocked inquisitively. Mr. Grey nodded to indicate that he was paying attention. “Is there a way to remove Kavinsky from Henrietta? Is there a place he could go to… reconsider things?”

“What, Rehab for Assholes?” Declan asked.

Ronan smirked.

“Actually,” Mr. Grey interjected, “that’s not a bad idea. In fact, I’d say it’s a potentially viable solution, if done right.”

“How do you mean?” Jiang asked. He was sitting on the edge of the couch, leaning so far over that he was getting perilously close to falling off.

“Well, let’s think about this in mundane terms. Kavinsky, according to everything I’ve heard from you all, is an addict. He’s doing and taking everything he can to _feel_ something and to avoid confronting his problems. Ronan, would you say that’s true?”

Ronan nodded. He knew about Kavinsky’s abusive father, about his checked out mother. He knew about his craving for entertainment, the need for constant stimulation. For a while Ronan had been K’s latest and most satisfying fix, someone who was just as fucked up and troubled, someone who wanted to drown out his pain with more pain. _Addict_. The word felt repulsive in Ronan’s mind but he couldn’t deny the truth of it.

“Essentially, what we need to do is get Kavinsky to someplace where he can dry out, get all the drugs out of his system. Isolation, to have the quiet and space to think and process.”

Jiang protested. “He’ll kill himself,” he said. He looked to Ronan. “Back me up. We can’t just force him into total isolation like that! He’ll dream up a gun or pills or a razor. He’ll find a way out.”

“How would you keep him from dreaming an exit anyways?” Adam asked. “Can you inhibit dreaming?”

Mr. Grey looked to Ronan, “You tell me.”

And Ronan didn’t know. He had only started gaining some control over his dreams after Kavinsky had taught him some tricks. He was better now at bringing back specific things, at controlling what he dreamed about, but he still didn’t understand the why or how of dreaming. He had been born with it. As far as he knew there was no way to shut it off.

“Actually,” Declan spoke up, “I think I might have an idea. But we probably need some expert advice. Mr. Grey, do you think your girlfriend would be willing to consult with us?”

Mr. Grey smiled. It took ten years off his sober face. “I’m sure, if Adam makes tea and scones, Maura would be delighted to help.”


	31. Chapter 31

After Mr. Grey left the boys considered one another. Ronan watched how Declan and Jiang sat close together, how some part of one was always in contact with the other: knees bumping, elbows brushing together, hands placed on legs or backs. He had known, back during that tumultuous month with Kavinsky that _something_ was going on between his older brother and Jiang but he had been too consumed with his own problems to think about it much. He was thinking about it now.

Declan looked happier and younger than he had in years, since before Niall’s death even. It was the smile that Jiang provoked, an open, boyish grin that radiated warmth. He was more relaxed around Jiang. He looked… relieved. When everything with Kavinsky had crashed and burned Ronan had demanded that Kavinsky and his followers—Prokopenko, Jiang, Skov, Swan—stay away from his brothers. His interference brought Declan and Jiang’s budding relationship to a hard stop, which had made Declan furious, especially since Ronan refused to tell him what was going on and Jiang was unwilling to speak his friend’s secrets, even to Declan. But that was in the past. Somehow, over this weekend or maybe even before that, Jiang and Declan had found their way back to each other and their easy language of touch and prolonged eye contact hinted that they weren’t wasting any time.

“I think we should go to the Barns,” Ronan said.

The way Declan’s attention zeroed in on him was gratifying, as was the way Adam clutched at his knee. Jiang looked mildly surprised but not as shocked as the other two.

“Why?” Declan demanded. His tone was sharp, edging on authoritative. Ronan took a deep breath before responding.

“Not that I don’t have complete confidence in the psychics,” Ronan said with a little too much sarcasm; Adam elbowed him, “but I would like to see if dad had anything hidden away that could be useful. For stopping K.”

Declan sat forward, fingers laced together. His posture, coupled with his suit and tie, made him look like a young, ruthless CEO. Was this the way he had looked when he dealt with the buyers of their father’s creations?

“Okay,” Declan said. “What are we looking for?”

That was entirely _too_ easy but Ronan wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“I don’t know. I want to find some clues, or something. Did dad leave behind any papers?”

Declan waffled his hand back and forth. “He wasn’t into writing stuff down. Most of what he had will be on his phone. I can get that to you on Sunday; I keep it at my bank in DC.” He glanced at Jiang and smiled winningly. “Fancy a trip to DC?”

Jiang laughed, nodding enthusiastically. “Is that a real question? Of course!”

They were smiling so much that Ronan groaned loudly and rolled his eyes. “Oh shush,” Adam admonished. “You’re twice as bad.”

“I am not!” Ronan protested. Jiang gave him a look that said, _yeah, you are._ “Anyways, when can we go to the Barns?” Ronan asked. “And can we bring Matthew?”

Declan thought about this, his fingers drumming against Jiang’s knee. “Let’s get lunch and go. So, say we meet back here in two hours? Adam, will that work for you?”

Adam nodded. “I called out today so I could be here to meet with Mr. Grey. Going this afternoon would be ideal.”

“Perfect!” Declan clapped his hands together and stood, offering a gallant hand to Jiang who took it and used Declan’s leverage to bring them close together. They made eyes at each other until Ronan interrupted.

“Do you need some different clothes to wear?”

Declan examined his slightly rumpled suit. “Nothing you own would fit me,” he observed. “But I can change there. I have my old clothes at the Barns.”

Ronan winced a little. It was a reminder of their hurried, harried exodus. When Declan had militantly enforced their father’s will he had forbade them from taking almost anything, other than a few changes of clothes, some other essentials. “We’ll buy what we need,” he had said. But that wasn’t the same. Ronan had wanted to bring his favorite blanket—softer than cashmere—that smelled like early morning fog. There were so many things that got left behind but the worst part was the leaving. How could they exist without the Barns, without their parents? The sting of it still smarted. But Ronan was starting to realize that Declan was not the enemy but he and Matthew’s protector. What if they had taken dream objects out of the Barns and the wrong people noticed? They already had targets on their backs, no need to draw extra attention.

“When we left,” Ronan’s voice was harsh and gravelly, “you only let use bring store-bought things.”

Declan frowned. “That’s right.”

Ronan sighed, attempting to funnel months of anger and frustration out. It wasn’t quite working but he was trying.

“Someday we need to talk about this,” Ronan said, eyes locked on Declan’s.

“I agree. Name your time and place, little brother.” Declan offered Ronan his hand, the gesture too formal, but Ronan shook anyways, their grip light to keep from aggravating Ronan’s bandaged hand. “Well, this has been great. Parrish, good to see you again. Jiang and I are off to lunch and we’ll be back soon, with Matthew.”

Jiang waved bye and grabbed onto Declan’s arm. They strolled out of the apartment, looking like a politician and an arts student.

“Whew,” Adam said once the door had closed behind them, “you and your brother are not at all alike.”

Ronan snorted and picked up one of Adam’s scones. He was suddenly starving. “Some sons rebel against their fathers, I rebelled against Declan. Mostly because he was trying to act like a father, telling me what to do…” Ronan slathered the scone with butter. “Honestly, he was more like a father than our dad was.”

Adam hugged his arms around himself and looked melancholy. Ronan felt immediately guilty for talking so much about fathers when Adam’s was such a shitbag.

“ ‘is scn s mzng,” Ronan mumbled, crumbs falling out of his mouth and onto his lap. He brushed them onto the floor; the mice could eat them later.

“What was that?” Adam teased. “I don’t speak Mannerless Boy.”

Ronan chewed and swallowed. He had already eaten half the scone in one bite. “I said, ‘This scone is amazing!’ What kind is it?” Ronan shoved the rest of the scone in his mouth, chewing with exaggerated politeness.

“You’re a dork,” Adam said, flicking him on the nose. “It’s sour cherry, Mr. Grey’s favorite.”

“How’d you know it was his favorite?” Ronan played up his jealous tone.

Adam blushed. “Well, a lot of times he sets up his table next to mine at the market and he always takes a break to go buy them from Dolores, she makes the best scones in Henrietta. Mr. Grey gives me a scone in exchange for watching his booth.”

“Buying his way into the hearts of impressionable young men.”

Adam shrugged. “You can’t fault his methods.” He buttered a scone and took a manageable bite, chewing and swallowing before continuing, “Scones are effing fantastic.”

“Oh? Are they? And the word you were looking for, Adam, is _fucking_.”

Adam coughed around his scone and quickly drank some tea.

“Behave,” he chided, his Henrietta accent drawing the word out, making it sound more like a come on.

“Not gonna,” Ronan replied, stealing the last bite of scone from Adam.

Adam huffed. “Since you are injured I’m not going to fight you for that.”

“Oh, please!” Ronan snorted. “I would _love_ for you to fight me, Parrish. C’mon, I’m not that fragile.”

And that’s how Gansey found them, sprawled on the floor, Ronan on top of Adam while Adam, more playful than serious, tried to knock him over.

Gansey stood in the doorway, blinking, and then he stepped back, closed the door, and opened it again. Ronan and Adam stared at him.

“Well.” Gansey walked past them, taking in the wreck they had made. “At least you two spared Henrietta.” To be honest, Ronan had knocked over one of the outlying houses but he and Adam and painstakingly pieced it back together before resuming their faux fight. “Ronan should you be… wrestling while your hands are like that?”

“Parrish is being gentle,” Ronan smirked. Adam cuffed the back of his head.

Gansey ignored them and got himself tea and a scone. Soon he was in ecstasies, singing Adam’s praise and saying how he hadn’t eaten a “proper” scone since England. He threw in more English slang than Ronan had ever heard outside of a BBC program. Adam smiled and nodded and wrote down the recipe for Gansey, though Lord knew that Gansey would never make his own scones.

“So what are you kids doing today?” Gansey asked jovially.

Adam looked at Ronan, Ronan looked back. For some reason he felt hesitant to tell Gansey. He turned the words over in his mind, remembering all the times Gansey had been to his home. Today’s visit was a mission, not playtime, but Gansey had signed up to be part of the solution to the Kavinsky problem so he deserved to know…

“We’re going to the Barns.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delayed update and that it's pretty short! I'm gonna be planning out what happens next so please bear with me.


	32. Chapter 32

It didn’t seem real. They reconvened in the lot, Jiang, Declan, and Matthew in one car, Ronan, Adam, and Gansey in the BMW. Ronan tore out of the lot ahead of Declan, tires squealing on the street, Adam bracing his hand against the dash to keep from slamming into the door. Gansey shouted something that sounded foreign coming from his mouth, as it was one of Ronan’s favorite phrases. Ronan didn’t care. He was soaring, his heart racing and demanding he go faster and faster and faster. Home was the destination and he couldn’t believe it; he had to get there as soon as possible, before Declan changed his mind, before life threw any more shit at him.

The windows were down even though the early afternoon July heat was intense. Ronan wanted to feel _everything_ and he didn’t want to talk. Occasionally he would glance over to find Adam looking at him or staring out the window. Gansey was furiously typing on his phone. As the BMW ate up the miles between Henrietta and Singer’s Falls Ronan tried to prioritize, to get his thoughts in order. But his mind was a whirl: _home_ , Adam, Aurora, Declan, Matthew, Gansey, Jiang, _home_ , Niall, dreams, Kavinsky, _home_ , _home_ , _home_. He felt split between his desire to have the Barns completely to himself and his anticipation of sharing it with Adam. He hated that his first time home would be so crowded though honestly he couldn’t begrudge Matthew and Declan’s presence; it was their home as much as it was his, even if their father had willed him the land and the house.

Ronan flinched when he felt a hand squeeze his shoulder; he was so engrossed in his thoughts—his body on autopilot—that the physical contact came as a surprise. Adam smiled at him, his eyes fond but worried.

“You’re squeezing the wheel too hard,” Adam shouted over the wind roaring through the car.

Ronan blinked. He _had_ been squeezing too hard; he loosened his grip on the steering wheel and saw a thin line of blood on the white bandages. The pain only registered once he was looking at the blood, it was like his mind had been too preoccupied to notice. That or he was so used to getting injured that such a small hurt was easy to ignore.

“Thanks,” Ronan yelled back. Adam nodded once and laced his fingers with Ronan’s over the gearshift. The road curved sharply and there it was: the drive that led to the Barns. Ronan took the turn fast but immediately decelerated, the BMW prowling up the steep, twisting drive, beneath the spreading trees. It was like entering another world.

Adam’s hand tightened on Ronan’s and Ronan could feel Adam’s pulse speed up, his head craned forward, turning constantly, taking it all in. It made Ronan feel a rush of pride and happiness. This was home: wild and strange and beautiful, a corner of Virginia that belonged only to the Lynchs. Even as Adam’s pulse raced Ronan’s slowed, peace washing over him. Gansey leaned forward, his hands gripping the headrests of the front seats, his face level with Ronan’s. There was a time when the Barns had been a frequent stopover and escape for him, that blissful, golden window of time when two boys became friends, became family.

The house came into view and Adam sucked in an audible breath. Now his hand was trembling.

“This is… your home?” his voice was brittle.

“Yes,” Ronan answered at the same time that Gansey commented, “It gets even better.”

Adam nodded, his eyes wide.

Ronan parked in front of the house, slamming the driver side door out of habit. Adam climbed out of the passenger side and turned around in slow circles, surveying the house and the fields, the stretches of trees. Ronan knew the Barns was lovely but Adam’s wonder added a fresh layer of awe to the familiar landscape. He was home.

“C’mon,” Ronan walked over to Adam and linked fingers with him. “Let’s take a look inside before Declan shows up.”

“I thought y’all made up?” Adam asked. Gansey snorted.

“We… did,” Ronan conceded. “It’s not… we’re not… we’re working on it. Anyways, let me at least show you around before things get crazy.”

“I’ll wait out here,” Gansey said. He waved his phone at them. “I don’t want to be the awkward third wheel.”

“I thought that was your official role in the great Henry-Blue-Gansey tandem bike?” Ronan joked.

Gansey shrugged. “Do tandem bikes have three wheels? Anyways, someone has to be the awkward wheel. I took one for the team.”

Adam laughed. He tugged at Ronan’s hand and Ronan tugged back before pulling, sending Adam stumbling into him. Ronan wrapped his arm around Adam’s waist and they walked around the house to the back door.

It felt like a dream, a very good dream. He was home. Adam was here. _They_ were home.

Ronan opened the back door and led Adam inside. They held hands and ventured into the house. The well-known and well-loved halls and rooms opened up to them, inviting, cozy, stuffed full of dreamed objects, everything brimming with memories and uniqueness. Adam’s fingertips grazed a framed family photo. It was a couple years old.

“That’s dad,” Ronan murmured, nodding at Niall. “And my mom. Do you want to meet her?”

“Really?” Adam was whispering, too. Ronan was acutely aware of the silence in the house. As long as he had lived here the Barns had been a place of noise: music and laughter, voices ringing out, cars and machinery, animals lowing and squawking. But now it was as still and ghostly as a castle in a fairy tale that had been cursed into a hundred years of slumber. Ronan shivered. It was _exactly_ like that.

“Mom’s in here,” Ronan answered, gesturing to the sitting room. He pushed the door open and Adam followed him inside. They approached Aurora as quietly as possible; Ronan stepped on a squeaky floorboard and winced at the noise but Aurora didn’t respond. Adam pressed into Ronan, his brow furrowed almost as deeply as Ronan’s. It was obvious that Aurora was asleep and that her slumber was far from normal. Ronan felt dizzy as he stared at his mother, his mind processing but not producing any answers.

“What’s wrong with her?” Adam asked.

“Our mother isn’t, strictly speaking, human.”

Declan stood in the doorway. He was alone, for which Ronan was thankful. Declan stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, the latch catching with a soft _snick_.

“What do you mean?” Ronan’s voice came out low and rusty. He cleared his throat. Aurora continued to sleep, placid and unresponsive.

Declan looked from Ronan to Adam.

“Anything you tell me I’ll tell Adam so you might as well tell us both,” Ronan said.

“Fine,” Declan sighed. “We all know dad was a dreamer, that you have his gift.” He moved and stood next to Aurora and placed a careful hand on her wrist. “Didn’t you ever think it was strange that none of us look like mom? That she has no family? No friends?”

Ronan hadn’t thought about that. Their family was insular, a world unto themselves. Growing up Ronan assumed that was normal, how it should be.

“Mom is a dream.”

“What.” Ronan felt his lips form the word, heard it echo in the room, but at the same time his mind wasn’t focusing on that, it was tripping on Declan’s words, feeding them back like a remix _mom is a dream mom is a dream mom is a dream_

Declan scuffed his hand through his hair. “Dad dreamed her. Look, this will be easier if I show you the rest.”

“The rest?” Adam’s voice was pure astonishment. Ronan was glad Adam had asked because he didn’t think he could get beyond monosyllables.

“Follow me,” Declan said. He opened the door and Ronan followed, feeling numb and almost like he was having an out of body experience. Adam’s hand on his lower back helped to keep him centered even as his world, yet again, reoriented itself.

Ronan was aware that Matthew, Jiang, and Gansey were standing around one of the trees, pulling down packets of chocolate peanut candies, but their conversation sounded muffled. They were oddities in his once understood world. Ronan felt like he knew nothing, or that he knew everything but didn’t want to believe it.

Declan led them through the fields, the long grass brushing their hands. The smell of the fields was intoxicating, sweet and sultry. Dream country. Literally. They made their way to one of the cattle barns and Declan pulled the door open. It was dim inside, but the light revealed a herd of cattle, heads hung low, bodies still. Declan approached one of the cows and put his hand on its neck and beckoned Ronan to join him. Ronan placed his hand next to Declan’s. Beneath his fingers he felt the steady thrum of the cow’s pulse, felt the comforting warmth of its hide.

None of them spoke. The moment felt eternal, stretching on and on. The truth of the cows, of his mother, of what they were and what he and his father could do was enough to make Ronan’s heart break. The pain of loss seeped in around the enormity of it all. His father was dead; his dreams were… stagnant. No. In stasis.

“Do you see?” Declan asked. “ _This_ is why we had to leave home. Dad was the power source that kept everything running. After he died it all came to a halt.”

“You knew? All along?”

Declan’s face was making an expression that Ronan had never seen his brother make before. It was like he was eating a lemon. Adam brushed Ronan’s arm and he cocked his head towards the door. It took Ronan a second to recognize that Adam wanted to give him and Declan some space. Ronan nodded and Adam turned and left the Barn, easing the door closed behind him.

The space felt different with Adam gone, with just him and his older brother standing in their father’s barn, among his dream cows. There was an odd glimmer in Declan’s eyes and suddenly Ronan understood the strange expression, the contorted line of Declan’s mouth, his pinched nose and furrowed eyebrows. _Declan was trying not to cry_.

Declan took several deep breaths, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “I knew. I don’t fit in, like you. I’m not a dreamer. So I learned to _look_ , to _see_. I learned how to tell the differences between something that had been dreamed and something that had been made. I knew dad would never love me as much as he loved you but I thought if I was useful, if I was trustworthy, he would value me.” Declan scuffed his feet in the dust and straw. His throat was working as he swallowed.

Ronan remembered his father telling the story of Ronan’s birth, glorying in the oddities and wonders of that day: cattle crying blood, blue flowers raining down. He remembered Declan asking about his own birth and their father’s dismissive reply “I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t there.” They had been children. Ronan hadn’t registered the casual rejection in those words, but now it felt like cruelty. Why had his father not been there? How could he have missed the birth of his first son? If there had been a good reason for his absence why had he never told them?

“After dad… died. I was the one to get the cattle in the barns, to make sure that everything was secured.” Declan patted the cow absently. “I missed a few, they’re out in the fields, sleeping. It wasn’t easy. It still isn’t, managing the aftermath of Niall Lynch.” The name was laced with venom, bitter and stinging.

“Dad loved you,” Ronan said, but he wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince Declan or himself.

“Sure,” Declan shrugged. “Anyways, do you get it? Mom, the animals, the dream objects. This is why we can’t come back. Maybe someday we’ll find a way but right now it isn’t safe. There are people still looking for things that dad promised them. We wouldn’t be safe here.”

“But mom is?”

Declan nodded.

Ronan exhaled hard. His hands stroked the scratchy cow’s hide. He felt inadequate, a dreamer like his father but virtually clueless on how to utilize his powers. The only other dreamer he knew was probably getting high or fucking or tearing around Henrietta in his Mitsubishi; he wasn’t someone that Ronan wanted to see again. He was the reason they were at the Barns, searching for a clue on how to incapacitate a dreamer’s powers. It might very well be impossible, as impossible as reawakening his father’s dreams, of waking their mother.

“Shit.” Ronan breathed. Declan grunted in agreement. “How did you fucking put up with all this?” Ronan asked, his hands gesturing to the walls, the cows.

Declan’s smile was sharp. “I lied. I lied to you and Matthew and most of all, myself.” Ronan glared but Declan shrugged it off. “I live a double life, little brother. I have a gun in my room, a gun in my car. I have burner phones and multiple e-mail accounts. I keep tabs on you and Matthew, on mom and the estate, on dad’s business and his enemies. I could throw all the clichés at you: I sleep with one eye open; I’m always looking over my shoulder. Dreaming is a dangerous business. I do all this and I lie to myself and say that dad would be proud, that someday you’ll—” Declan closed his mouth and looked away.

“God, Declan.” Ronan didn’t know what to say. “God.”

“Hmm. Yes, He’s probably not too pleased with me, either. Confession is a bitch, lying to a priest.”

Ronan choked. “You could _not_ go.”

“Well, it’s best to keep up appearances,” Declan answered. “So, do you have any questions or can we get on with this scavenger hunt?”

Declan’s flippant tone didn’t fool Ronan. He knew that Declan was holding back, purposefully steering them away from topics that were too raw to touch. Ronan let himself be deflected.

“I suppose it’s too much to hope that you know what we’re looking for?”

Declan laughed. “No fucking clue. You’re the dreamer.”

Ronan sighed and cursed quietly.

“Amen,” Declan agreed, crossing himself. Ronan raised an eyebrow at the sacrilege. Declan smirked. “Well,” he said, clapping Ronan on the shoulder, “let’s get this shitshow on the road.”


	33. Chapter 33

By the time Declan and Ronan exited the barn the other boys had moved to more comfortable locations. Matthew had found a cat somewhere and he was cradling its small, slumbering body in his arms. Jiang was sprawled on a deck chair in the shade of the house. Adam sat next to Gansey on the back steps, their heads bent towards each other as Gansey showed Adam something in his fat Glendower journal. It suddenly struck Ronan that they were all here for _him_. Somehow he had gone from being an angry, feral, isolated mess to this: someone who was loved and able to love. He could vividly remember a time, not too long ago, when he had woken up from a nightmare covered in wasps and it had messed him up so badly that he had run away and proceeded to make one bad choice after the other (Kavinsky being Bad Choice #1). His life had drastically improved since then but he hadn’t done that on his own. He had Gansey and Noah to pick him up and put him back together, Adam to provide the love and healing he had needed. Now Declan and Jiang, Blue and Henry, The Gray Man and the psychics, were all on his side. For a brief moment he felt bad for K because, really, who was on his side?

“Ronan!” Matthew called out to him. “Declan! I found Mr. Whiskers! But he won’t wake up.”

Ronan and Declan exchanged a look. Ronan wasn’t sure how he could explain that the cat wouldn’t wake up because it was a dream thing. Or explain that their mother was a dream, too. He couldn’t bear to tell Matthew the truth about his own existence: that he was a product of Ronan’s dreams and not the natural child of Niall and Aurora.

“Mr. Whiskers has been enchanted,” Declan said solemnly. He walked over to Matthew and took the cat from him, holding the old tabby like it was a fragile treasure. “Our father’s magic protected his kingdom from villains but after he died his power failed and all that he loved was sent into a magical sleep.”

Matthew stared at Declan with wide eyes. Then he laughed. “Don’t be silly, Declan. After all, you and me and Ronan aren’t asleep and dad loved us.”

Declan looked stymied by that conundrum so Ronan stepped in. “Yes, but I have powers like Dad and I managed to keep the three of us awake,” Ronan explained. “I wasn’t strong enough to help everyone.”

“That’s why mom…” Matthew frowned and took the cat back from Declan. Ronan nodded sadly. “Well, okay,” Matthew murmured. “But you’ll fix her, right?”

Ronan smiled and tousled Matthew’s curls. “Of course.” Declan made a barely audible _tsk_ but Ronan wasn’t lying. He _would_ fix this; he would wake their mother and his father’s dreams. But not today.

“Well,” Gansey said, coming over to join the brothers, “I must say it’s strange to be back and for it to be so quiet.” Adam followed Gansey and took his place next to Ronan, his arm curving around Ronan’s waist in a way that felt so right and normal and good that Ronan’s heart felt like it would explode.

“I agree,” Declan murmured, his eyes narrowed as he scanned the grounds. “Let’s hurry up and get this done. I know we would all like to explore and reminisce but technically we’re not supposed to be here.”

Ronan scoffed. “C’mon Declan, you’re the one who has stood in the way of us returning. What’s to stop us from being here now?”

“The law,” Declan replied with a huff. “I know, you don’t care about the law. But dad made that will because he knew that, with him gone, we wouldn’t be safe here. So let’s get a move on. Jiang and I will search dad’s work area in the big barn. Matthew, you and Mr. Whiskers can keep mom company, okay?”

“Yeah!” Matthew shouted, hugging the sleeping cat to his chest.

“Fine,” Ronan agreed. “Gansey, Adam, and I will search the study and the library.”

“What are we searching for?” Gansey asked. He was looking studious with his wire frame glasses and his journal tucked under his arm, it almost made up for his ridiculously bright colored Polo, khaki shorts, and boat shoes.

“I’m not sure,” Ronan admitted, “but I think we’ll know it when we see it.”

Gansey nodded. At first Ronan had felt hesitant about asking Gansey to come along but now he was relieved. Gansey had an almost supernatural ability to find things that no one else could. Perhaps he could work some of that magic today.

Declan left their group and went to collect Jiang. Jiang looked disinclined to leave the comfort of his seat until Declan got down on one knee and offered to give Jiang a piggy back ride. Ronan watched with amusement as Jiang clambered onto Declan’s back and the two of them set off towards the barn, Declan laughing at whatever Jiang was whispering in his ear. It was amazing how Declan just seemed to melt whenever he was around Jiang.

“Well,” Gansey said, his eyes following Declan and Jiang, “I did _not_ see that coming.”

Adam grinned and hugged Ronan closer, his fingers tickling just below Ronan’s ribs. “They’re cute,” he commented. “We’ll have to go on a double date sometime.”

Ronan snorted but Gansey pounced on the idea. “That would be fantastic! Could Henry, Jane, and I join you? Oh, and I think my sister and her girlfriend would want to come…”

“Yes, just bring them all,” Ronan said sarcastically. “All the gay people of Henrietta. We’ll get pizza and watch everyone else die from jealousy.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Adam said brightly.

“Umm… I don’t know if I’m gay but can I come, too?” Matthew asked.

“Of fucking course,” Ronan answered. He messed with Matthew’s curls again just so he could hear Matthew giggle.

The four of them trooped into the house and Gansey and Adam went to investigate the kitchen while Ronan took Matthew to see Aurora. He was worried about Matthew’s reaction but his brother – his dream – simply curled up on the floor next to Aurora’s chair and laid his head on her knees. He settled Mr. Whiskers on his lap and continued to absently pet him. In only a few moments Matthew fell asleep, his gentle face slack and relaxed.

Ronan lingered longer than he meant to, watching the little family of dreams sleeping. Adam came to get him eventually, draping himself over Ronan’s back, his cheek resting on Ronan’s shoulder.

“You and Declan don’t look like her,” Adam whispered in his ear.

Ronan shook his head. “Yeah. Weird that I never put it together before Declan said. God, how the fuck does that even work?”

“Making babies?” Adam asked, his voice colored with humor.

“No, I know that part, smartass. I mean, my mom’s a dream. Does she have DNA? Like, what the actual fuck?”

Adam shrugged; Ronan could feel his chest and shoulders move up and down against his back. “I don’t know but maybe we can find out. First things first, though.”

“Right.” Ronan sighed and closed his eyes, taking comfort from Adam’s closeness, from the familiar smells of home. _It’s going to be okay_. Ronan turned his face towards Adam, their noses brushed, Adam’s hair tickled along his cheek and ear. They kissed briefly and it was as easy as breathing, as thinking. Adam’s arms snaked over his chest, palms pressed over his heart. Adam kissed him on the jaw, on his throat, then the nape of his neck, each point of contact making Ronan shiver. “Okay,” Ronan murmured in response to Adam’s silent question. “I’m okay.”

“Good,” Adam said and nuzzled behind Ronan’s ear. “Because I think Gansey is getting anxious.”

“He’s always anxious,” Ronan replied but he let Adam lead him back to the kitchen where Gansey was, in fact, anxiously peering into the fridge.

“Did you know that this yogurt does not have an expiration date?” Gansey asked. “And that its flavor is… I don’t even know, what is that fruit?”

“Dad’s favorite. His take on Eden’s forbidden fruit, I believe.” Ronan grinned. “I bet there’s still Guinness stashed somewhere…”

“Here to work, Lynch,” Gansey reprimanded him.

“You’re no fun.”

They left the kitchen and walked through the silent house to Niall’s library/study. Ronan had fond memories of playing on the ornate Persian carpet while his father read to him and Declan and Matthew. Their mother would sometimes come and sit with him on the floor, usually with Matthew curled up in her lap, and they would sit in rapt attention as Niall spun out tall tales of his childhood or recounted epics of ancient cultures. As the boys grew up the stories changed:  _The Hobbit_ , _The Dark is Rising, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone_. Ronan couldn’t read any of those books without hearing his father’s voice narrating.

Ronan walked over to the old, heavy desk. There were many clever pigeonholes and drawers, hidden compartments and ornate carvings. Niall claimed it was a family heirloom brought over from Ireland. Ronan traced the worn scrollwork and intricate dragons and flowers. He breathed in the scent of books and wood and the peculiar spicy smell of the carpet.

“This is incredible,” Adam whispered. He was gazing longingly at the floor to ceiling shelves that ran along the walls. A rolling ladder could be used to reach the highest books; Ronan and Matthew had spent many hours climbing up and down its rungs, pushing each other along the track. “I can understand,” he added softly, so that only Ronan could hear, “why you hated Declan for making you leave this place.”

Ronan didn’t think he could speak just then, the lump in his throat hurt too much, so he lightly pinched Adam’s wrist and went back to examining the desk. Gansey had busied himself by peering into unlikely places, turning over those stones that no one else would think to touch. Adam climbed the ladder and started reading book spines. Ronan pressed his thumb against the carving of a rose and watched as the side of the desk swung out revealing a shallow hidden compartment. Inside the compartment was an artist’s portfolio case. Ronan took it out and started sorting through the contents. Some of the documents were protected by plastic sheaths and they looked suspiciously like illuminated manuscripts but where Niall would have gotten them from Ronan couldn’t guess. He squinted and tried to decipher the Latin written in heavily illustrated text. There were maps of the United States and Ireland and unlabeled locations, each of them heavily notated and drawn on. It was a bit like looking at Gansey’s maps of Virginia and West Virginia where he cataloged his theories and thoughts on the final resting place of Glendower.

Sure enough, Gansey joined him, drawn by the allure of studying a map. They lost track of time, trying to place the location of the unlabeled tracks of land.

“Was he mapping his dream world?” Gansey asked. He was rubbing his thumb against his lower lip, his brow furrowed in thought.

Ronan leaned forward on his elbows and peered at the tiny handwriting next to a blue line that he assumed was a river. “I can’t read the language. Have you seen anything like it?”

Gansey shook his head. “It reminds me of Gaelic but it’s not…” Gansey tried pronouncing the words. They sounded vaguely familiar, like something Ronan had heard in a… in a _dream_.

“I think it’s a made up language. A dream language. But I can’t decipher it.” Ronan frowned and scratched at his scalp, wishing he had someone who could tell him what it meant. Maybe Orphan Girl?

“Hey Ronan?” Adam called to him. He was perched near the top of the ladder, a slim hardback volume in his hands. “I think you need to see this.”

Ronan got to his feet and climbed the ladder until he was level with Adam. Adam passed him the book. The title on the spine was _Traditional Irish Recipes_ and the cover had a very basic illustration of a potato on it. Ronan wrinkled his nose, remembering all the times his father had bemoaned the “Irish people only eat potatoes” stereotype (though, his father always added, potatoes were damn tasty). It was odd that he would have this cookbook, that he would have a cookbook at all.

“Open it,” Adam instructed.

Inside, instead of a table of contents or pages of recipes, Ronan discovered that the pages were lined notebook paper covered in his father’s scrawl. On the first page was written: _Rules for Dreamers_.


	34. Chapter 34

“Holy shit,” Ronan breathed. His hands trembled, making the pages of the book shake. Adam placed a steadying palm over his hand and stroked his thumb over Ronan’s bandages. Ronan swallowed and tried to focus on the words. He had waited so long for this, for some guidance from his father. He wanted to ask Adam to pinch him, just to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming, that this was real.

“Here.” Adam took Ronan’s elbow and helped him off the library ladder. They settled down on the carpet, backs pressed to the shelves. The couch would have been more comfortable but right now Ronan wasn’t sure he could make it that far. “Gansey, you better see this,” Adam said.

Gansey crawled over and sat next to Ronan, their thighs pressed together as Gansey leaned over his shoulder to look at the book. Adam sat on his other side, one hand resting on Ronan’s knee, his fingers digging in the holes of Ronan’s jeans.

“What’s this?” Gansey asked. He sounded wide-awake and alert, intrigued by the book in Ronan’s hand; all books intrigued Gansey, especially ones found in a dreamer’s library.

“Rules for dreamers,” Ronan read out loud, his voice shaky. The words were swimming and he couldn’t make himself say what followed. He rubbed at his eyes but that didn’t help so he passed the book to Gansey.

Gansey scanned the page rapidly, his lips pursed. “This…” he started, his expression nonplussed, “isn’t a rulebook.” He examined the cover, puzzled over the potato image, and turned the pages. “It’s a journal. Your father’s dream journal.”

Ronan knocked the back of his head against the shelves, his nails digging into his bandages, tearing. That flutter of hope he had felt when he picked up the book was gone, sodden like the wings of a moth that had strayed into a puddle.

“How far back does the journal go?” Adam asked. “Is there an order to the entries?”

Gansey glanced over the pages, flipping rapidly. “Hmm. The entries aren’t dated. Some of them are lists, drawings, maps.” Gansey was almost to the end of the journal when a small envelope tumbled out. Adam picked it up and turned it over, his eyebrows arched in surprise.

“It’s for you,” Adam said, passing the envelope to Ronan.

“Of course it is.” Ronan took the envelope, pausing to admire his father’s script. He broke open Niall’s custom wax seal and instantly the scent of Ronan’s dream forest filled the library. Ronan gasped, feeling lightheaded and disoriented. It could only mean one thing—his father had been in _his_ forest. But how was that possible? How was any of this possible?

The letter inside was written on silvery paper that felt cool against Ronan’s fingers. The ink was dark and looked fresh, as if it would smudge under Ronan’s touch.

 _Ronan_ the letter began _if you’re reading this then I am dead._

He closed his eyes and held the letter to his chest, feeling his heart thud against his ribs. Why did the truth never stop hurting?

Adam’s fingers brushed his knee, Gansey’s elbow rubbed against his side. The library was quiet except for the sound of their breathing. Right here, right now, Ronan was safe, cocooned between his best friend and his boyfriend. He didn’t want to leave them, he didn’t want to keep reading but he had to, he had to know the truth that Niall Lynch had left behind and he couldn’t do that in their company.

Ronan pried himself free of Adam and Gansey and stood up, the letter still pressed over his heart.

“I gotta go…” he muttered and stumbled out of the room, leaving the journal with Gansey.

Habit took him to the stairs and up to his bedroom. The door was standing open, his bedding messy, musical instruments and clothes strewn over the floor. It had been nearly a yearand the room was unchanged, time stamped at the moment of his departure. Ronan stepped over a skateboard, kicked aside a pair of pajama pants, and sat down on his bed, the mattress groaning. On the bedside table a picture of the family flickered, the people shifting with small movements. This was one of Niall’s dreams, inspired by the Harry Potter books. When they had left the Barns Declan told him he wasn’t allowed to bring it.

Ronan picked up the heavy frame and studied the happy, sepia-toned family. Niall was holding Matthew up by his feet and Matthew was laughing, hands clutching at his shirt to keep it from falling over his head. Aurora had her arms wrapped around Niall’s shoulders, lips pressed to Niall’s cheek. Ronan was grabbing at Niall’s arm trying to hang off his father like Matthew. Declan stood to the side, hands in his pockets, smiling a little at Niall. Niall’s laugh-smile was the focal point of the picture; Ronan imagined he could hear his dad’s laughter echoing in his dusty room. _Niall Lynch_. Larger than life. Dead and buried in the tiny cemetery next to St. Agnes.

With a heavy sigh Ronan lay down on his bed and held the letter above his face. Panic surged. On these few pages was the truth: once he knew it he couldn’t unknow it.

_Ronan— If you’re reading this then I am dead. I hope that I have passed on the information you will need to stay safe in a world that has little love for our kind, for dreamers. But in the event that I died before I could share this knowledge with you here are some guidelines…_

Niall’s letter was sparse on sentiment and heavy on information. It outlined an entire world that Ronan had not known existed, a world that Declan had shared with their father. Niall listed the major players in the dream trade, collectors and creators, the good, the bad, and the worst. The letter had obviously been edited over the years; some names scratched out, others added, new notes in different colored inks. Niall had circled the name COLIN GREENTMANTLE several times and wrote STAY AWAY under his name. A burst of hot hatred and anger seared through Ronan as he stared at the name. Someday Colin Greenmantle was going to suffer for what he had done to Niall Lynch… he and whatever person he had hired to do the job. Ronan made a mental note to ask Mr. Gray about that.

The angst of seeing Greenmantle’s name was soon replaced by wonder as Ronan read the directory of known dreamers. His heart raced because here it was, at last, proof that he was not alone, proof that he wasn’t a godforsaken freak. Each entry included a name and the last known country of residence, sometimes more information was provided but for the most part the records were short. There were dreamers all over the world, their homes located far from each other. Even in large cities like Shanghai, New York City, London, or Tokyo there were usually no more than two or three dreamers in residence. Small, sleepy Henrietta was far and away an anomaly; currently hosting two dreamers though at one time there had been three. Ronan couldn’t wait to share the list with Gansey, to raid his collection of pushpins and plot out the locations on Gansey’s gigantic world map.

On the next page was an abbreviated family tree, a chronicle of vaguely familiar names, each crossed out and accompanied by a cause of death. Ronan felt a sick creep of unease as he scanned the tree: _murdered, murdered, suicide, murdered, missing presumed dead, murdered_. Ronan’s grandfather had, according to the record, been stabbed to death in Ireland. Niall had scribbled the name of the killer in purple ink; that name had later been Xed out in black ink. Only Niall and Ronan’s names remained. Ronan traced a trembling finger across his father’s name, silently adding in the details: _murdered, beaten to death in Henrietta, Virginia_. He set the letter aside and pulled his pillow over his face, holding it there until his lungs screamed for oxygen, until his physical discomfort masked the raging grief. He ripped the pillow away and lay on the bed panting, forcing himself to calm down and come down, to focus.

Ronan flipped to the next page of the letter and startled when he saw a familiar shape criss-crossing the top of the stationary: three curved lines intersecting to form a triangular shape. It was, according to the ladies of 300 Fox Way, the shape of the Henrietta ley line. In his mind he heard Gansey’s rich accent murmur _Coincidence?_ He thought of the first time he had seen Adam – brilliant, beautiful Adam – standing at his booth at the market selling Ley Line Organic Teas. It was all coming together, their separate paths dovetailing here, in Henrietta. _What a world_ , Ronan thought, and began to read.

 _Ley lines_ Niall wrote _are conduits of energy that cross the globe. Henrietta lies on top of an incredibly powerful line. Dreamers tap into the line’s energy in order to manifest dreams. We have enough energy of our own that we’re not solely dependent on the line but without the line our abilities are limited. Try bringing back a cow while hanging out in Death Valley. I’m joking. DON’T TRY IT._

Ronan snorted. Dreaming cattle in the middle of the desert was something his father would have done.

 _There are certain locations where dreaming is impossible. Dousing rods, of course, are helpful in tracking a ley line and finding particularly potent caches of natural energy. Below are the coordinates of several dead zones that I’ve located. In the past rogue dreamers were sometimes exiled to areas such as these. Sometimes. More often than not they were killed by hunters. If you ever feel out of control I suggest taking a vacation. Hunters are alive and well. Unfortunately_.

Ronan hopped to his feet and started pacing, biting his thumbnail and rereading the coordinates. This was it! This was how they could stop Kavinsky. He felt a surge of triumph followed by a sickening lurch in his stomach. _Hunters_. His father provided only a few lines about hunters because, apparently, there wasn’t much known about them. According to Niall those that met hunters ended up dead, no exceptions.

_Hunters band together. They’re an organization; possibly they live together, though no one knows where. We dreamers are solitary by nature, unwilling to work together or even communicate regularly, so we don’t have much in the way of defense against hunters. All I can tell you is STAY IN HENRIETTA. I settled the family here, relying on the massive energy of the line to shield us from our enemies._

Ronan scowled at the stationary. His father, despite all the caution he advised, had royally fucked up the ‘stay hidden in Henrietta’ plan. Colin Greenmantle had found him and had him killed. Although Greenmantle was ignorant of Niall’s true nature it was only a matter of time before Kavinsky’s extravagant dreaming got them both killed, too.

Niall’s letter went on to describe dreamers as, among other things, weapons. Dreamers hid from the world because if someone was able to control a dreamer they could potentially compel the dreamer to unleash untold horrors on the world. Niall had listed a few myths and legends as reference. Ronan shivered. He knew what monsters lived in his mind, the ones he fought nearly every night; those creatures should never see the light of day.

Ronan’s mind was reeling from the concentrated dose of life-changing information but he kept reading, determined to finish the letter and rejoin Gansey and Adam as soon as possible. There were a few bullet points about Niall’s dream business, most of them vague. _SEE DECLAN_ was written in bold. Some additional properties were mentioned, including an apartment in DC, a remote cottage in Ireland, and a beach house on Dog Island, located off the coast of Florida. The island was described as a dead zone, remote, completely off the grid, and uninhabited. Niall explained that he had purchased it after Ronan’s powers began to manifest. _One dreamer is hard enough to hide, try two._ Ronan wondered if this was one of the reasons Niall had been gone so often, so that the ley line wasn’t being drained by both of them, so they didn’t draw too much attention.

Ronan wandered over to the window and stared out at the fields, the barns, the woods, and the distant mountains. His father had left him all of this—his kingdom, his responsibility. Gazing at the well-loved landscape it was difficult to imagine the threats facing him, to recast his life in the light of his family’s legacy. He wasn’t just Ronan Lynch, friend of Gansey, boyfriend of Adam, brother to Declan and Matthew. He was Niall Lynch’s heir. He was set to inherit a magical life and a dangerous business.

He pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window and watched a flock of crows swoop in and perch on the old oak tree at the edge of the fields. Laughter pealed from the one of the barns and a few moments later Jiang came charging out, pursued by Declan. They raced around the barn a few times before Declan was able to catch up and tackle Jiang. Jiang hollered something about Declan ruining his shirt and Declan complained about tearing the knees in his pants. Ronan turned away when Jiang rolled on top of Declan and started kissing him. _Unexpected_. But, despite all the drama between him and Jiang and Declan, Ronan was glad. He didn’t have to go it alone. He had Declan and Adam; he had an entire group of people who were working with him to fix things. Ronan rolled his shoulders to ease some of his tension and went back to the letter.

_I wish I could have told you this in person. Since the day you were born you have been my treasure. Forgive your old dad for keeping these things from you. Knowing your place in the world is a heavy burden and I wanted you to be free of it for as long as possible. Take good care of Matthew and your mother. Listen to Declan. See you on the other side, Ronan._

 

The letter was signed with a flourishing signature _Niall Lynch_. Ronan blinked back a stray tear and folded the letter. He held it up to his nose and inhaled the eerily familiar scent of trees and moss and stone. For a brief moment he let himself pretend that nothing had changed, that Niall had never died and they had never left the Barns. The fantasy shattered almost immediately. His life was too different now. No matter how much he wished he could change the past it was impossible and all he could do was meet his challenges and keep moving forward. Ronan tucked the letter into his back pocket and retrieved the picture from the table. He walked through the doorway and cast one more look at his old room.

“ _Excelsior_ ,” he whispered and shut the door.


	35. Chapter 35

By the time Ronan returned to the library Jiang and Declan had trudged in, both of them a bit filthy from their exploration of the barns and from making out on the lawn. Gansey and Adam were sitting on the couch, leaning over one of Niall’s dream maps. A tray filled with teacups, a teapot, and candy was set on the desk, the tea still steaming.

Ronan stood in the doorway watching them. The nervy tension that had existed when all of them had been together on previous occasions had disappeared. Declan was actually _slumped_ on the couch with Jiang leaning heavily on his shoulder while Adam explained about the journal he had found. Gansey listened, absently rubbing his thumb along his lower lip, his wire frame glasses slipping down his nose. Declan reached for the journal, reading the first entry with interest. Jiang sipped at his tea and asked Adam about the blend.

It was comfortable. It was odd. And it was incomplete. Matthew and Aurora were missing.

Adam looked up and he beamed when he saw Ronan. It was so damn cute, the way happiness seemed to shine out of his eyes and his smile got all… _smiley_.

“Hey, welcome back,” Adam said, alerting the others to Ronan’s presence. “I made some mint tea, if you want a cup.” Even though Adam’s tone was light and upbeat his eyes were serious and assessing. Ronan felt transparent beneath his gaze, like Adam was reading his every emotion and trying to think of the best way to help. Which was a little redundant; Adam even being there was plenty of help already.

Ronan nodded gratefully and moved around Declan and Jiang to perch on the arm of the couch next to Adam. The letter crinkled in his back pocket and Ronan stood to remove it. He noticed that Declan’s eyes went immediately to the stationary and that his hands tightened up, gripping his knees. Previously Ronan would have hidden the information he had just read; hoarded everything except the most essential facts and let Declan suffer the not knowing. But it was time to let go of that passive-aggressive behavior, and the aggressive-aggressive fighting, too. With a smooth flick of his wrist Ronan tossed the letter into Declan’s lap.

“Dad left me a set Dreamer 101 guidelines,” Ronan said. “I think you might know a lot of it. Like, did you know that we own an island off the coast of Florida?”

Declan looked guilty as he sat up and pulled the letter from the envelope. “I’ve been there once.”

“Of course you have,” Ronan huffed. “Well? Is it like dad described? Isolated? Off the grid?”

“Yeah,” Declan nodded. “You have to rent a boat to get out there. As far as I know it’s not on any maps; too small. It’s… well, to be honest, it’s not a pleasant place.” Declan rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s this weird vibe there. I can’t describe it, it’s like it’s the opposite of here.”

“That makes sense,” Ronan said. “In the letter dad explained that there are certain places that are dead spots, no magical energy.” He glanced at Adam, his lips quirked in a half smile. “Apparently your ley lines are what keep us dreamers in the business.”

Adam sucked in a breath and exhaled it slowly, nodding. “It’s just as the psychics said.” He laughed a little and drank some tea. “Ley lines.”

Jiang’s face was set in an introspective scowl, his fingers laced together. He caught Ronan looking and sighed, relaxing a little. “I think I can see where this is going.”

“Right,” Ronan agreed. “So. Dreamers need energy to create. We send Kavinsky to the island and maroon him there. With no way to leave and no ability to manifest his dreams he’ll be trapped.”

“A prison for dreamers,” Gansey muttered. “Clever.”

“Sounds like purgatory,” Declan added. He got up and paced around the couch. “A place where the damned pay penance until their sins have been expunged.”

“I think we’re all aware of the concept,” Ronan interrupted.

“I’m just thinking out loud,” Declan continued. “If we get Kavinsky there are you planning to let him out? How do we know if it’s worked? What if he gets worse?”

Jiang squirmed and drained his cup of tea. “He won’t take well to isolation.”

“I know.” Declan placed a hand on Jiang’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “If you don’t want to be a part of this I understand. We’re not trying to punish him, Jiang.”

“No, I get that, I do.” Jiang stood up, too. He and Declan stood face to face and Ronan was struck, again, by the incongruity of them as a couple, but also their rightness together. “I know that Kavinsky needs to be stopped,” Jiang said. “He’s like any other addict, he needs an intervention, he needs rehab. It’s just…”

“His addiction is not something than can be treated at a normal facility,” Ronan cut in. “I hope that if I went out of control you all would do the same for me.”

Adam gripped Ronan’s hand, squeezing hard. Declan, Jiang, and Gansey exchanged a look before nodding their agreement. And even though they were discussing something truly dire it made Ronan feel better to know that they would do this for him, if needed.

“Okay, now that we’ve clarified that marooning Kavinsky isn’t retaliation for what he did to Ronan, how are we going to accomplish this?” Gansey asked. He had his journal open to a mostly blank page and he had a pen at the ready. “Do we think he would go willingly?”

“No.” Ronan, Jiang, and Declan answered at the same time. Gansey nodded and scribbled something in his journal.

“Mr. Gray has offered his services,” Adam reminded them. “Although, I’m not sure if he’s ever kidnapped someone.”

Declan shook his head. “He’s an assassin. _Was_ an assassin. But since he feels that he owes us I think we can count on his help.”

“Ronan, maybe you could dream up some forged paperwork saying Kavinsky is transferring schools or taking a leave of absence, perhaps for health reasons?” Adam suggested.

Ronan thought about it. “I could do that. It’s not lying, exactly. He is taking a leave of absence for his health. If all goes well he may even come back to Aglionby.”

“If you’re planning for that eventuality then I think it’s best if he doesn’t know that any of us are involved,” Jiang cautioned. “Sure, you may get him to kick his dreaming habit but trust me, you do not want him going all revenge on you. On us.”

The clock in the library chimed loudly, shattering the moment and reminding all of them that they had been at the Barns too long.

“We should get going,” Declan said. “We’ll keep brainstorming and meet at Fox Way tomorrow to see what Mr. Gray and the psychics think. Sound good?” They all nodded in agreement. “Excellent. Ronan, if you don’t mind I’ll hang onto the letter. I want to see if there are any surprises or new information.”

“Sure,” Ronan agreed. He had the dream journal to occupy his time anyway.

They all finished up the tea and Ronan carried the tray into the kitchen, Adam trailing behind him. While the others went outside to look at something Declan had unearthed in one of the barns – a Welsh artifact – Ronan and Adam washed up the cups. 

The scent of rosemary and lemon filled the kitchen as Adam carefully washed and rinsed the teacups before handing them off to Ronan for drying. They were quiet, processing all the revelations that the day had brought them. Ronan felt a deep pang of sadness as he surveyed the kitchen, remembering the mornings when his mom would make them eggs and bacon and toast, or the nights when his dad would cook a proper Irish supper for them and let he and Declan have a couple swallows of his beer. This was where he had come to work on Latin, quizzing his father and Declan when they happened to wander through. So many memories. 

And here was Adam, quietly working at his side, his forehead creased in thought. Ronan didn’t know whether to thank luck, fate, the ley line, or God for bringing them together. Adam glanced over and smiled. 

“What?” Adam asked. 

“Hmm?” Ronan feigned innocence. “Can’t a guy just admire his boyfriend?” 

Adam flicked water at Ronan’s face, grinning mischievously. “I suppose. As long as said boyfriend is allowed to do an equal amount of admirin’.” 

“ _Admirin’_.” Ronan repeated, trying to mimic Adam’s accent. “Talk country to me, Parrish.” 

Adam blushed around his ears and stuck out his tongue. “I don’t think you’ve earned it, Mr. Lynch.” 

“Oh? Then let me fix that.” 

Ronan crowded Adam against the kitchen counter, his bandaged hands settling on Adam’s hips as he leaned in for a kiss. Adam kissed him back, wrapping his arms around Ronan’s shoulders, palm spread over the back of his neck. 

“You taste like mint,” Ronan murmured, pressing soft kisses along Adam’s jaw and throat. 

“Mmmm,” Adam hummed happily and Ronan could feel the vibration dancing against his lips. “You do, too.” Adam bit at his ear, startling Ronan and making him laugh. 

“Was this planned, then? Mint tea. Making out.” Adam’s teeth found Ronan’s earlobe and his hands found Ronan’s ass, squeezing. Ronan swore under his breath, pushing back before hauling Adam up onto the counter. 

“Careful,” Adam warned. “Don’t tear your stitches, Ronan.” 

“Fuck my stitches,” Ronan scoffed. “They can take it.” He kissed Adam hungrily, his heart singing as Adam hugged him close, his long legs hooking around Ronan’s waist and crossing behind his back. Adam’s fingers dug into his skin, his heels knocking against Ronan’s lower back and it was so good. _He was home. He was with Adam_. 

Adam pulled back for a moment, panting, his checks flushed. “Damn,” he gasped. “Kinda sucks that we hafta leave so soon.” He was exaggerating his accent and Ronan loved it. 

Ronan grinned. “Who says? Gansey and Matthew can go back with Declan and Jiang.” 

Adam groaned and huffed a hot breath on Ronan’s neck, his legs squeezing tight around Ronan. “Don’t tempt me.”

Ronan brushed Adam’s hair back, smoothing it off his warm forehead. He liked Adam’s wavy hair, liked playing with it and tugging it and he knew, from experience, that Adam _really_ liked it, too. He wound his fingers through the hair at the nape of Adam’s neck and tugged a couple times, appreciating the way Adam arched against him, his head tilted back and his mouth open. 

“ _Fuck_.” Adam swore and Ronan rewarded him with a searing kiss and the scratch of his blunt nails down Adam’s back, hard enough to leave pink lines. Adam squirmed, his kisses sloppy and breathless against Ronan’s mouth.

Ronan was rapidly losing the ability to think about anything except Adam and Adam’s mouth and the hot, hard press of their hips grinding together.

“Bedroom?” Ronan asked, voice hoarse.

Adam’s eyes were closed, his hands tugging at Ronan’s shirt, stretching the fabric. “Umm,” Adam started, his words lagging. He made a few sounds that were very nice and Ronan wanted to do lots and lots of things to keep hearing them. “Ah,” Adam tried again, “um, God I want to say yes but… we’re supposed to be leaving…” Ronan kissed behind Adam’s ear. Adam sighed and slowly pulled away, cupping Ronan’s face in his hands. “I want to, Ronan. But there isn’t time. And I want the first time that we’re together here, in your home, to be more than a quickie, yeah?”

Ronan couldn’t argue with that. He rested his forehead against Adam’s and took a step back, feeling almost chilled now that he wasn’t glued to Adam.

“You’re right,” Ronan admitted. “Sorry for getting carried away.”

“Oh my God, do not apologize because that was amazing,” Adam said. His hands slid down Ronan’s shoulders, kneading at his tense muscles. “Really amazing. You should totally take advantage of me soon. Like as soon as we’re not surrounded by your family.”

Ronan laughed loudly, the sound echoing in the large kitchen, in the silent corners of the house. How long had it been since someone had laughed here? He pecked Adam on the cheek. “Deal. Now let’s go get Matthew and scram.”

It was only later, miles from Singer’s Falls, that Ronan realized how he had been manipulated. He stretched his hand out for Adam’s, until their fingers locked together over the gearshift. The pain of leaving the Barns and his mother had been momentarily eclipsed by his desire to get Adam alone. Whether Adam had planned it all out or acted in the moment, he had distracted Ronan enough that he was able to leave home with minimal suffering.

After they dropped off Matthew Ronan drove them back to Monmouth. Gansey excused himself, leaving to go visit Henry, and Ronan guided Adam back to his room.

“Thank you,” Ronan murmured as he pulled off Adam’s T-shirt. Adam gave him a questioning look. “For distracting me.”

“I think you did a good job of distracting yourself,” Adam replied, tugging off Ronan’s shirt and pushing him onto the bed.

“But you helped,” Ronan protested.

“I helped,” Adam conceded. Adam straddled his hips and leaned down to kiss him. “I really love you, Ronan Lynch.”

Ronan’s heart surged, beating so fast and hard that he was almost afraid it would burst. “I really love you, Adam Parrish.” 

Their next kiss was going places and Ronan happily let the feeling take him over. He had gone home and it hadn’t been horrible. He had answers and a plan and _he had Adam_. Every beat of his heart thrummed with the knowledge: _he had Adam, he had Adam, he had Adam_.


	36. Chapter 36

That night Ronan dreamed of the island.

_The wind blew across the beach and dragged along his face and hands, smelling of salt, heavy with the tang that belonged only to the ocean. There was nothing on the horizon but endless choppy blue waves. Ronan heard a dull scraping sound and turned to find Kavinsky hunched over a piece of driftwood. His fingernails were knives and with them he sharpened the wood into a spear. He glanced up, eyes hidden behind his trademark white sunglasses._

_“You know what happens next,” Kavinsky said. “Where’s your stick?”_

_Ronan looked at his empty hands and thought_ stick.

_His mind delivered a cue stick._

_Kavinsky laughed. “That’ll work.” He got to his feet; sand sifting off his jeans, his loose wifebeater sliding off one shoulder._

_“We don’t have to do this,” Ronan said, edging backwards, towards the surf._

_“You’re either with me or against me,” Kavinsky answered, stepping forward. His knife-nails were gone but the stick would do enough damage on its own. Ronan’s feet slashed into the water._

_“Why.” Ronan demanded._

_“Because we’re the same.”_

_Kavinsky threw the stick at the same time that Ronan let his drop. The point easily pierced his chest, driving into his heart, punching out through his back. It happened so fast that Ronan didn’t even feel pain, just surprise._

_Kavinsky pushed his shades up and Ronan saw two perfect tears form and fall before he was falling, back and back. The ocean pulled him into its embrace and the last thing he saw was the sun, bright and swimming, above him._

Ronan woke with a start, his chest aching, his mouth full of salt water. He managed to tip his head to the side, the water spilling out over his pillow and onto—

“Ronan?” Adam’s sleepy voice called to him in the dark. Ronan couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, but the panic was lessened by Adam being there. “What’s… what’s wrong?”

The mattress creaked as Adam rolled over and scuffled around. A few moments later he managed to turn on a light and return to Ronan’s side. Ronan blinked at him but he couldn’t do much else.

Adam grabbed a shirt and wiped the water from Ronan’s face and neck. “Did you have a nightmare?”

Ronan blinked once. Wasn’t that the signal for yes?

“It’s okay, I got you.” Adam tossed the shirt on the floor and retrieved a bottle of water from the bedside table. He waited with Ronan, his forehead creased in worry but his hands steady and comforting as he held onto Ronan’s hands.

The ability to move returned slowly. The salty taste of the ocean lingered in Ronan’s mouth and as soon as he could he drank the water that Adam offered him. He touched his chest, still feeling the phantom pain of being impaled. At least he hadn’t returned with that wound.

Adam sat next to him, back resting on the headboard, his hair all fluffy and messy from sleep. His expression was concerned, but the worry was softened by the look of relief in his eyes.

“I’m okay,” Ronan said, squeezing Adam’s hand. “It was just a dream.”

“It looked like you swallowed the whole ocean,” Adam remarked. He pulled Ronan’s hand into his lap and traced his fingers and palm with feather-light touches. “Could you have drowned?”

Ronan shrugged, uncomfortable with the question. “Possibly. This dream though. It felt different. Less like a dream and more like a premonition.”

“Tell me what happened.”

So Ronan did. It didn’t take long to recount the details, but Ronan dwelled on the feeling of the dream, the eerie unreality of Kavinsky’s homemade spear cutting through his chest like butter. The lack of pain.

“What do you think it means?” he asked Adam.

Adam tapped his fingers against Ronan’s thigh while he thought. He was wearing one of Ronan’s overlarge black T-shirts and the stretched out neck offered a tantalizing view of his collarbones. Each second the nightmare felt farther and farther away; if this was the effect of waking up next to someone you loved, well… Ronan wasn’t sure if he’d be able to sleep again without Adam by his side.

“I think,” Adam said slowly, “that this might be a stress dream. Unless you’ve had premonitions before?”

Ronan shook his head.

“Right. What about stress dreams?”

Ronan could think of many bad dreams stemmed from his own mental and/or emotional turmoil. There was the one with the wasps that kickstarted everything with Kavinsky. _Fucking wasps_.

“Yeah, of course,” Ronan grunted. He plucked at the sheets.

“You’re worried about how Kavinsky will react once he’s on the island. You’re worried about revenge.” Ronan sort of nodded. “And I think you’re feeling guilty about this.” Adam peered into Ronan’s eyes like he could uncover all his hurt and make it better.

“It’s a shitty thing to do,” Ronan muttered. “It feels… wrong. Like, we’re taking away his choice, Adam. We’re taking away his magic.”

Adam sighed and got up. His long, lean legs were so surprisingly naked that Ronan couldn’t help but stare, his train of thought lost.

“Let’s get some tea,” Adam said. “We’ll think better and it’ll help you wind down.”

“But Gansey—” Ronan started. Adam placed a finger on his lips, smirking.

“You passed out pretty good but I’m a light sleeper,” Adam explained, “and I can tell you for a fact that Gansey hasn’t come home.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Ronan asked. He had never known Gansey to sleep over at any place in Henrietta, other than the times he stayed at the Barns. But that was a long time ago.

“Uh-huh.” Adam opened the door and Ronan took a look at Gansey’s empty bed, bathed in moonlight. “Think he’s still at Henry’s?”

Ronan grabbed his phone from the floor and checked his messages. There was one from hours ago saying that Gansey was indeed sleeping over at Henry’s. He asked that Ronan and Adam not wreck the miniature Henrietta “doing whatever you plan on doing.” Ronan showed the text to Adam who laughed.

“C’mon.” Adam took Ronan’s wrist and pulled him towards the kitchen/bathroom/laundry room. He filled the kettle with water and set it to boil and then started looking through the teas. Ronan watched as Adam’s cheeks gradually flushed from pale pink to a darker shade.

“What’s up?” Ronan asked. Getting Adam this flustered was no small feat.

“I can’t believe he bought every tea blend,” Adam muttered. “Look at this… he even bought some mugs.”

“Well, you sold them to him, remember?” Ronan leaned back against the wall next to the shower, arms crossed over his chest.

“Yeah but I was distracted at the time.” Adam stared pointedly at Ronan. His gaze strayed to Ronan’s arms and chest. The pink got pinker. “Anyways let’s go with _Sweet Dreams_. It’s only three am and I need more beauty sleep before going into work.”

Ronan nodded. There was something so comforting about watching Adam putter around the miniscule kitchen, measuring tea and finding mugs, humming to himself while the water boiled. It was almost impossible to believe that prior to this summer Ronan had had no idea that Adam Parrish existed. Now he couldn’t imagine life without him.

The dream tugged at his happiness, reminding him that he had unfinished business, problems that were waiting in the wings to wreck all of this.

Once the tea was ready they carried their mugs out to the main room and sat on the edge of Gansey’s enormous bed, watching the full moon.

“So,” Adam began, “what are you thinking?”

Ronan sipped his tea and kicked his heels against the bed. “I’m thinking that I feel fucking conflicted about all of this but that it’s the right thing to do. I keep thinking about my father’s letter, about the hunters. I’m thinking about how fucking damaged K is, has always been, and I’m wondering if he’ll get better.”

Adam made a dissatisfied sound and wrinkled his nose.

“You don’t think he deserves a second chance?” Ronan asked.

Adam tapped his mug and cocked his head to the side. “He did something unforgiveable to you,” Adam answered. “Don’t except me to think rationally about all of this.”

Despite the severity of the topic Ronan grinned a little. “I make you irrational?”

“Yes.” Adam glared out the window at the moon. His knuckles were white from his grip on the mug. “I… when I think about what happened, or think about your panic attacks and nightmares… I can’t keep calm. I want this to be over, for you. I want you to be able to go to sleep and not be afraid of the dark corners of your mind.”

Ronan reached for Adam and pried one of his hands off the mug. “I want that, too.” He sighed and squeezed Adam’s hand. “Tomorrow… maybe we’ll get some more answers. But at least we know which direction to move towards. We have a plan.”

“Yeah.”

Adam drank his tea slowly and Ronan chugged his, wincing as the too hot liquid burned down his throat. He lay back on Gansey’s bed and felt the heat of the tea suffuse his body, felt the herbs working their magic and leading him towards sleep.

“What do you think Gansey would do if we camped out here?” Ronan murmured. Gansey’s mattress was plusher than his, making him feel like he was sinking into a nest of feathers.

Adam chuckled. “Since it’s you and me? Probably nothing. He adores you, you know.”

“Please.” Ronan rolled over onto his stomach and smelled the minty, bookish scent of Gansey’s sheets.

“Did he not move heaven and earth to get you here with him?” Adam asked.

“Just Declan.”

Adam shrugged. “Same difference.”

Ronan felt his conscious mind slipping and, despite his teasing, he really didn’t want to invade Gansey’s bed. He got up and together he and Adam stumbled back to his room. Ronan snuggled down beneath the blankets with Adam pulled in close. Before he could even say _good night_ he was asleep.

Maybe it was the tea or Adam but for the rest of the night Ronan’s dreams were filled with light.


	37. Chapter 37

Adam left just before dawn. He kissed Ronan goodbye and promised to meet him and the rest of their group at 300 Fox Way after he got off work. Ronan vaguely remembered; he wasn’t a morning person and after their late night and the nightmares he was more groggy than usual.

Gansey returned later that morning and insisted that Ronan wake up so that he could recount, in far too much detail, everything that had happened at Henry’s. Noah also decided to make an appearance, levitating a few inches off the ground just to fuck with them. Ronan glared at him but Gansey looked amused and soon was off on a new tangent, asking Noah all sorts of questions about his ghostly nature. Ronan was fairly sure that all of Noah’s answers were complete bullshit though there was one detail that rang true: according to Noah, spirits and entities like him drew their energy from the ley line, as well as from humans. Ronan was well aware of this, he vividly remembered the day he learned of Noah’s true nature, remembered the searing cold of Noah draining his energy in order to remain corporeal.

“So… Henry?” Noah prompted.

“Is amazing,” Gansey sighed, his eyes going all dreamy. Ronan scoffed and muttered _besotted_. Noah tweaked Ronan’s ear.

“You’re no better,” Noah commented. “I know you and Adam thought you had Monmouth all to yourselves last night but…”

Ronan’s face went scarlet. “Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me,” he growled, glaring at Noah.

Noah smirked cheekily. “I could give you the highlights,” he said to Gansey. “Surprisingly vanilla. But Adam though—”

“I will fucking murder you _again_ ,” Ronan threatened. Noah rolled his eyes.

“I really don’t want to know,” Gansey interrupted, holding his hands up between them in a peace making gesture. “But I do want to talk about this afternoon. What are you thinking, Ronan?”

Ronan was still sending murderous looks in Noah’s direction but he managed to bring his focus back to Gansey. “I’m thinking that we need to get Kavinsky to the island as soon as possible but I doubt anyone has been there since before dad… died. We’ll need to get the house ready for long-term human habitation, at least. And I kind of want to see it.”

He didn’t tell Gansey about the nightmare, about Kavinsky killing him. Even though it was _just a dream_ it had still unnerved him more than he would like to admit. He needed to visit the island in person, to get a sense of it and know, _really_ know that it would be capable of holding Kavinsky’s powers in check. He was also curious to see another sliver of the world that his father and Declan had hidden from him.

“That seems reasonable,” Gansey agreed. “But do you think it’s safe for you to go?”

Ronan shrugged carelessly. “What’s that thing you always say?” Ronan pointed at Gansey who gave him a blank look.

“Safe as life,” Noah chimed in.

Gansey wrinkled his nose, clearly not a fan of having his own somewhat reckless life philosophy thrown back at him.

“Besides, Declan will be there,” Ronan added, “and he has a gun.”

“That does _not_ make me feel better about this,” Gansey said. “You know my feelings on guns.”

“Yes, please don’t go into that debate again,” Ronan shut him down. “Hearing you debate your views in ethics class was enough for me, thanks very much.”

Noah chuckled and drifted over to the pool table and started shooting the balls across the table, shouting whenever he managed to get one of them into a pocket.

Gansey got up to watch Noah’s performance, his earnest face betraying a childlike awe that made Ronan’s heart hurt. No matter what shit life threw at Gansey he never let it spoil his sense of wonder, his ardent belief in the innate goodness of the universe. For fuck’s sake Gansey had _died_ , come back, and entered into an epic, supernatural quest to find a dead Welsh king. No wonder he had been able to embrace Ronan’s abilities and Noah’s existence with such ease. No wonder he was currently dating a psychic’s daughter and planning to map out the Henrietta ley line.

Ronan got up to scrounge for food in the kitchen/bathroom/laundry room. There was a box of stale Lucky Charms in the cupboard; Noah had drawn some rather offensive comments about Ronan and leprechauns on the box. Canisters of oatmeal and protein powder collected dust next to the neglected coffee maker, reminders of a time when Gansey would wake before dawn to swim or attend rowing practice; all of those extracurricular activities had been dropped in the aftermath of Kavinsky and Gansey had never picked them back up. Ronan wondered if Gansey missed them.

“Hey!” Ronan yelled, his stomach gurgling unpleasantly. “There’s no fucking food!”

“Why would there be?” Gansey yelled back. “Oh! Nice shot, Noah,” he added.

“Useless,” Ronan muttered, opening the minifridge and slamming it when all he found was a few packets of soy sauce and an empty pickle jar.

“Let’s go out,” Gansey suggested, coming over to stand in the doorway. “We can do brunch.”

Ronan scowled. “I do not _do brunch_.”

Gansey shrugged easily. “Okay. We can go get food that is not breakfast or lunch. Noah, want to come?”

“I don’t eat,” Noah said sulkily.

“Well, that’s never stopped you before. Come on. We haven’t had a roommate’s day in… I can’t recall, actually.”

Once Gansey got the idea into his mind he would not let up and Ronan had to give in or listen to Gansey continuously whine about how they no longer spent time together. Ronan dug through the pile of clothes on his floor until he found an old T-shirt he had pilfered from Adam. It was worn to threadbare softness, the logo no longer recognizable against the faded black fabric that had dulled to charcoal grey. It smelled like Adam – tea, herbs, dust – and that was the best part. He paired it with ragged jeans that were slashed over the thighs and knees. Standing next to Gansey in the doorway of Monmouth Ronan allowed himself a wistful smile; he and Gansey were about as different, outwardly, as two people could be. Gansey looked perfectly polished in his turquoise Polo and khaki pants, his hair flawlessly tumbled, his skin tanned and clear. Only his tattered boat shoes betrayed the eccentric nature hiding behind the glossy exterior.

Noah stuck a freezing hand up Ronan’s shirt, scaring him half to death and making him yowl and curse while Gansey watched, wincing.

“Classy,” Gansey muttered. “Be sure to get your hijinks out before we get to brunch. I don’t want to get kicked out of _another_ Henrietta eatery because of you two.”

“Did you just say _eatery_?” Ronan mocked. “What the fuck, Gansey?”  
  


Gansey led the way down the stairs and Ronan and Noah followed, as they always did.

“Yes, Ronan, I said eatery, please forgive me. I’ve been spending quite a bit of time with the cultured residents of Aglionby.”

Ronan rolled his eyes for Noah’s benefit. “Okay, _Declan_.”

Gansey sighed loudly and got into the driver’s seat of the Camaro. “You really need to get over using Declan as the butt of your insults,” he said. “After everything—”

“Yes, yes,” Ronan snapped, “Declan’s secretly awesome and I should be thanking him every day for looking out for my sorry ass but does he have to be such a dick—”

“You know how I feel about that word—”

Noah surged forward from the backseat, somehow hovering between them, like his torso had sprouted from the center counsel. “If I had a Snickers I would hit you both in the head with one,” he scolded. “This is Roommate Day. No fighting. Especially about things that we’ve already resolved. What’s today’s objective?”

Ronan slumped into the seat and stared out the passenger window, moodily chewing on his leather bands. Gansey changed gears and accelerated, the car filling with the smell of gasoline. Noah waited them out, humming some song that had been popular when he died. It sounded like “All the Small Things” and Ronan bit back a grin.

“Witchery,” Ronan finally answered, flicking his eyes at Gansey in time to catch his sliver of a smile.

“Please don’t call my girlfriend’s family witches,” Gansey corrected easily. “They’re a bit sensitive on the subject.”

“I can’t believe you have a girlfriend,” Ronan muttered. “ _And_ a boyfriend. Doesn’t that get like confusing?”

Gansey parked in front of one of the small downtown restaurants, a homey establishment that claimed to serve the best grits in the state. “I’m not answering that until you’ve had something to eat and can be properly civil.”

“I’m being perfectly fucking civil,” Ronan said primly, earning shocked looks from the old ladies who were exiting their Oldsmobile. Gansey smiled apologetically and guided Ronan to one of the tables on the porch.

“Sit.” Gansey commanded. “I’m going to order. Noah, keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t terrorize the locals.”

Ronan pretended to look affronted. “I would never.”

While they waited Noah and Ronan played a game of hangman. Noah was proving to be eerily excellent at it and Ronan suspected that he was cheating. Gansey returned with mugs of coffee.

Ronan took a sip and nearly spat it out. “I know,” Gansey said ruefully, “it’s not Adam’s tea but it’s caffeine.”

They drank their coffee and Ronan won three games of hangman against Gansey before the waitress brought them their food. There were pancakes for Ronan and a platter of eggs, bacon, toast, and fruit for Gansey. Noah smiled pleasantly at the waitress and shook his head when she asked if he needed anything. While they ate Ronan continued asking Gansey questions about his ‘love triangle’.

“It’s not a love triangle!” Gansey cried. “It’s… well, I don’t know, but it works. Jane – I mean Blue – likes both Henry and I, I like Blue and Henry, and Henry likes both of us so there’s an equal share of affection on all sides. It’s like, do you ever feel like you and Adam fit together? Like you feel completed or more yourself when you’re with him?” Ronan nodded. “That’s how it is when I’m with them. Two is good but the three of us, together? That’s best.”

Ronan’s ears burned a bit and Gansey immediately flushed, too. “Oh God, I didn’t mean like _that_.” He buried his face in his hands. Noah laughed delightedly, at some joke that only he was privy to. “We’re not there, yet.”

“Yet?!” Ronan nearly choked.

“Okay, way to be judgmental, Ronan,” Gansey chided.

“I’m not—,” Ronan chewed his lip, keeping the lie behind his teeth. “I’ve never known anyone who was like you guys,” he admitted. “It’s a lot. And I had, strangely enough, a rather conservative upbringing…”

“Yes, I know,” Gansey cut in. “It’s fine. Just…don’t make Henry or Jane feel uncomfortable, okay? We have enough to deal with.”

Ronan nodded and stuffed more pancakes in his mouth. If anyone was going to end up with multiple partners he thought it would have been his brother, not Richard Campbell Gansey III. But, as he had learned over his short but extraordinary existence, life was infinitely stranger and more wonderful than he had ever expected.

They finished their breakfast and headed over to 300 Fox Way, a thoughtful but not unpleasant silence lingering between them. The Camaro pulled up in front of the old blue house and Ronan saw Adam sitting on the steps, Blue next to him and Henry leaning against the stair railing. Declan and Jiang were lounging against Declan’s Volvo, their heads bent over Jiang’s phone. Matthew was petting one of the stray cats. Mr. Gray and Maura Sargent wandered out the front door, hands briefly linked. Ronan felt a sharp tug in his chest, followed by a flood of warmth. He looked to Gansey, tears pricking in his eyes and swallowed hard.

Gansey placed a hand on Ronan’s shoulder and squeezed. “We’re here for you, Ronan,” he said.

Noah added his hand on top of Gansey’s and planted a chilly kiss on Ronan’s cheek, “Both the living and the dead.”

Ronan smudged the kiss away. “Asshole,” he muttered, a smile lightening his face, spilling out like a sunrise.


	38. Chapter 38

“Hey losers,” Blue called from the front porch. She stood up and Henry helped her brush the dirt off the back of her cutoff blue jean shorts.

“That’s my line,” Ronan replied, flipping her off. Blue stuck her tongue out and Henry eased around her to greet Gansey, the two of them hugging and ruffling each other’s hair like they hadn’t seen one another that very morning.

Not that Ronan was any better. He gave Adam a tight hug even though Adam protested. “You’ll get grease all over you!”

“Like I fucking care,” Ronan growled as he held Adam close. “You got grease in your ear, though.” He swiped it away with his thumb before trying to smear it on Blue’s shirt. Blue smacked his hand.

“Y’all certainly took your time,” Maura commented, breaking up the teenage hug fest. She was wearing ragged jean shorts, just like her daughter, though she had more leg to show off and Mr. Gray wasn’t being too subtle in his admiration. Both adults were holding Mason jars of iced tea, the glass wet with trickling condensation.

“We stopped for brunch,” Gansey explained. “You said around noon and here we are, around noonish.”

“Hmph,” Maura snorted. “I guess that’s what I get for not being specific.” Blue and Maura both smirked at some private joke.

Declan and Jiang joined them on the porch steps. It was weird seeing Declan out of a suit; it reminded Ronan of their younger, more carefree days. At that moment, with Declan wearing an old Pogues T-shirt that had holes around the neck, Ronan felt like he could  _finally_ see his brother, not the tense, authoritative doppelganger that had taken his place over the last year.

“Hey, Ms. Sargent, Mr. Gray,” Declan said, polite as ever. “What are you drinking?”

Mr. Gray shook hands with Declan and Maura offered him a friendly wave. “We’re trying Adam’s new iced tea blend, _Spillin’ the Tea_.”

Jiang laughed and gave Adam a high five. “Is it good?” he asked.

“Pretty damn good,” Maura answered. “What’s the blend, Adam?”

“Black tea, passion fruit, hibiscus, and rose hips,” Adam said. “I wanted something tart with floral notes. Brew, add sugar, chill, serve over ice. Or in some cases,” he nodded at Mr. Gray, “hold the sugar and spike it with honey whiskey.”

Mr. Gray toasted Adam. “Perfect for a hot Henrietta afternoon.”

“Speaking of, let’s get you all in out of the heat,” Maura said. She tugged at the front of her loose top and Mr. Gray brushed back a few strands of her hair that had escaped her messy bun.

Ronan hung back and let the rest of the group crowd in. It didn’t seem like Fox Way, as sprawling as it was, would be able to contain the lot of them, and certainly not so many men. Ronan added it up and was surprised that, including himself, there were nine guys here for the meeting. Blue and her mother were the only women in attendance, unless Persephone and Calla showed up, or Blue’s very nosy cousin, Orla.

“Whatcha thinking?” Adam asked. He was waiting with Ronan, watching with amusement as Maura fussed over everyone, looking more harried by the moment even though Gansey, Henry, and Declan were on their very best behavior. Jiang, Noah, and Matthew were perhaps not on their best behavior but they were trying. Maura plucked the ragged cat from Matthew’s arms when he tried to bring it inside.

“I was thinking I might need a glass of that tea before I go in there. Preferably with whiskey.”

“That’s easily done,” Adam said. He took Ronan’s hand and pulled him into the house, navigating his way to the kitchen with the ease of familiarity. He grabbed a glass from the cupboard, ice from the freezer, and retrieved a pitcher of tea from the fridge and the whiskey from behind the potted basil. Ronan leaned against the doorframe and watched Adam make his drink, his clever hands carefully going through the motions.

“Here.” Adam passed him the drink and waited as Ronan took a sip. “Well?”

Ronan took another swallow, enjoying the sweet, sharp burn of the whiskey and the way it balanced out the passion fruit and the herbs.

“Awesome.” Ronan drank some more and crunched on an ice cube. “Question, and don’t take this the wrong way, but can we put alcohol in all your teas? Cause this shit is amazing.”

Adam laughed a little and stepped closer, wrapping his arms around Ronan’s waist. “I have an entire list of mixed drinks you can try.” His voice was soft and quiet, his body warm against Ronan. “But you’re on your own for alcohol procurement.”

“I think I can manage that,” Ronan replied. He sank into Adam’s embrace and felt contentment bloom in his heart.

They kissed in the doorway and it was as sweet and stimulating as the tea. Ronan set the glass down so he could get both arms around Adam and thread his fingers through Adam’s hair and hold onto his waist.

Kissing Adam Parrish always felt like a miracle. _Always_. From the first time, when he was so nervous he almost fell out the window at Monmouth, to all those times in Adam’s apartment to now, he would never be used to the sheer joy of having Adam close to him, to be sharing this _everything_ with him. It was in this very house that Maura and Persephone and Calla had called them fated and Ronan had fought that pronouncement like it somehow invalidated what he felt for Adam. He didn’t have those doubts anymore. Fated or not, the press of Adam’s chest, the weight of hands on his back, and the incredibly gentle way Adam kissed him… _this_ was all he wanted.

“Ahem,” Maura interrupted. “Making yourself at home?” She directed the question to Adam and he shrugged, his ears pink but he didn’t let go of Ronan. “We’re all waiting in the reading room. Bring the pitcher and some glasses, won’t you? Oh, and Ronan, bring the ice and whiskey. The adults need some spiritual help.”

“Right.” Ronan retrieved the bottle and topped off his drink before grabbing a tray of ice cubes. Adam shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips. “What?” Ronan asked, poking Adam with his elbow. “I actually drink a lot less than I used to. I mean, ever since… well everything that happened before, I rarely get wasted. And since I met you—”

“Shhh,” Adam tapped his finger over Ronan’s lips. “I’m not judging you. Just don’t let Maura know you’re drinking her whiskey. She’ll go full mom mode on you.”

Ronan didn’t think that would be such a bad thing. Having any sort of parental involvement would actually be nice. Adam collected the tea and placed it and some more jars on a tray and headed for the reading room. Ronan trailed behind, examining the strange artwork and pictures on the walls. His favorite was probably the portrait of Steve Martin. Because, really, who had pictures of Steve Martin in their homes?

“At last!” Maura exclaimed as they entered the room. She took the tray from Adam and set it on the table. Apparently they weren’t getting a tarot reading today. Adam helped her get drinks for everyone. The couch was overcrowded; Jiang was sitting on Declan, Blue was perched on Henry’s knee, Noah was hanging off Gansey, and Matthew was sitting on the floor. Mr. Gray and Maura had claimed two chairs, leaving a third for Ronan and Adam. Ronan eyed the chair suspiciously. It didn’t look up to the task of holding two bodies.

“Didn’t you end up sitting on me the last time we were here?” Ronan muttered into Adam’s ear.

Adam tilted his head to the side, forehead creased. “Now that you mention it… I did! Because we were here,” he pointed to the couch, “with Blue and Gansey. And Maura, Calla, and Persephone had the chairs.” He patted Ronan’s shoulder. “Want to switch it up? You can sit on my lap.” He wriggled his eyebrows suggestively and Ronan had to shove his hand over Adam’s face to get him to stop.

“I’ll fucking worry that I’m crushing you so no,” Ronan answered, quickly sitting and snagging Adam’s waist, pulling him down. Adam yelped happily as he crashed back against Ronan.

Maura let out a long suffering sigh and banged her empty glass on the table. “Okay! I’m going to need everyone to be quiet! Y’all are loud enough but talking like this… shit.” She rubbed her fingers against her forehead, wincing a little. “Blue maybe you should go.”

Blue frowned, one arm wrapped around Henry while she also held hands with Gansey. “I’m not sure if that will help,” she commented, clearly unwilling to leave.

“Fine, fine,” Maura muttered. Mr. Gray refilled her glass, going heavy on the whiskey. “Then let’s make this quick. Dean has given me the basics of your plan. You want to take Joseph Kavinsky to an uncharted island that, according to your father’s notes, is not located on a ley line and, for reasons unknown, is a sort of magical or spiritual dead zone. Correct?”

Ronan and Declan nodded.

“As a mother I can say that I’m not a fan of marooning a teenage boy like that,” Maura said. “However, speaking as someone who has experience with ley lines and such things, I think your plan has merit though it’s only a temporary solution. Your problem is that Kavinsky’s dreaming is getting out of control because _he_ is out of control. I can’t imagine how staying on an island by himself is going to do anything to improve his state of mind.”

“We’re hoping this will serve as a natural detox,” Jiang supplied.

Maura looked dubious. “He needs help. From humans, not a deserted spit of land.”

Mr. Gray shifted in his chair, his fingers looped gracefully around his jar of tea. “I think I can help with that,” he offered. “I’m not a professional, at least not in psychiatric practice, but I’ve been through my fair share of fucked up – excuse my language – life experiences, not to mention I have an ongoing struggle with depression and, well, maybe I can guide him back to the light. Hell, I used to kill people for a living and now I raise bees. It could happen.”

“So you’re going to move to the island to take care of Kavinsky?” Declan asked, his voice laced with disbelief. Ronan was right there with him. It was a major sacrifice and all for a boy Mr. Gray had never met.

Jiang nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! Okay, but you guys didn’t really know K before all the shit with Ronan. He’s not all bad. He’s reckless and angry and sad and really, really fucked up because of stuff that happened before he moved here.  But he was mostly okay until about a year ago,” he looked to Declan, then Ronan, “he sort of went off the rails. It was right around the time he started hanging out with Ronan, and yeah, he was a bit better when he was with you but that—” Jiang stopped talking and stared at his trembling hands. He laced his fingers together and Declan rubbed his back in slow, soothing spirals. It took him a moment to compose himself before continuing. “I’m just glad to know you’ll be there for him. He needs someone to look after him. He sure as shit hasn’t had anyone to do that for years, if ever.”

The room settled into a tense silence. Ronan pressed his face into Adam’s back, smelling motor oil and sweat and gasoline. His head was a mess. Memories collided, flashbacks replayed. The good and the bad and the unspeakable. Jiang was right. He knew he was right but it was hard to reconcile it, to accept it. Kavinsky had been hurt and then Kavinsky had hurt him but that didn’t mean he was hopeless. If Mr. Gray could come back from his history of violence and suffering then K could recover. He _would_ recover.

Ronan sighed deeply and lifted his head so he could rest his chin on Adam’s shoulder. He felt a million years old.

“I agree with Jiang and Mr. Gray,” he said. “But I would also like to visit the island. Not while K is there, of course. But I need to see it, feel what it’s like to be there.” He searched out Declan, holding his brother’s stare. “Well?”

Declan tapped his fingers against the arm of the couch and gnawed on his lower lip. “I suppose it’s fine. We need a few days to finalize plans here as it is so we could make a trip down to Florida. I mean, it is summer after all.”

Immediately everyone chimed in, requesting that they also be allowed on this trip. Maura practically fled the room, clutching her head. Declan tried to reinstate order before giving up. He stood and beckoned for Ronan and Matthew to follow him.

The three of them left the crowded reading room and went out to the front porch. The heat hit Ronan like a brick wall and he wished he had remembered to bring his tea with him.

“We’re going to Florida?” Matthew asked. He looked back and forth between Ronan and Declan.

Declan frowned. “That’s what Ronan wants.”

Ronan threw his hands up. “It’s not that big of a deal, Declan.”

“It’s over 20 hours in the car with you, Ronan. It’s a big deal.”

“Oh my fucking god…” Ronan muttered.

“Guys,” Matthew interjected, “it’s going to be great! This means we have a private beach and everything! We can go swimming, surfing, tanning, uh maybe not you Ronan, and grill stuff!” He was practically vibrating with excitement.

Ronan and Declan exchanged a look. Now they would have to go, whether Declan wanted to or not. Ronan grinned and dragged Matthew into a headlock/hug.

“When do we leave?” he asked Declan.

Declan gave him a long-suffering look that wouldn’t have been out of place on a middle-aged dad. “Tomorrow at dawn. We’ll be driving all day, heaven help me.”

“Hey man,” Ronan said, “I can totally drive. We’ll get there sooner.”

“No.”

Ronan was still campaigning for driving rights when the rest of the group spilled out the house. Gansey, Blue, and Henry were chatting with Adam, planning some group date at the gelato parlor. Noah invited himself along even though he didn’t eat gelato.

Jiang came up behind Declan and pulled him into a hug, nuzzling at the back of his neck. “Hey babe, did I ever tell you how much I love gelato?”

Declan’s smile was so easy and happy that Ronan could hardly stand it. “Why no, tell me more,” Declan said. He wrapped his hands over Jiang’s and turned his head so they could share a quick kiss.

Matthew elbowed Ronan. “At what point am I going to find a boyfriend?”

Ronan nearly choked. “You- you want a boyfriend?”

“Well,” Matthew said thoughtfully, “Adam makes you so happy and Jiang makes Declan smile like that so…” he trailed off and shrugged.

“I think you’re too young to date,” Ronan said firmly. “But if you meet someone who you want to be with then we’ll talk about it. Until then I wouldn’t stress over it. Are you happy now?”

Matthew looked around at all of their friends and nodded. “When you’re happy I’m happy.” Ronan shifted uncomfortably. It was impossible to know how linked he and Matthew were but it always seemed more pronounced when they were together.

“That’s good,” Ronan murmured and gave Matthew a hug. “Alright, I’m gonna get out of here. I have packing to do.” Ronan looked around for Gansey and found him sitting on the back of the Camaro with Blue under his arm and Henry standing between his legs, kissing him. _Gansey kissing a boy_. Ronan shook his head in wonder and left the porch to join Adam and Noah under the shade of the beech tree.

“Did you put some kind of love drug in that tea?” Ronan asked Adam. “I feel like I’ve been transported to a romcom.”

Adam took in the scene at the Camaro and Declan and Jiang kissing on the porch. “I wish I could take credit but this isn’t me,” Adam said. “But I’m more than willing to jump on this bandwagon and make out with you.”

“I bet you are,” Ronan laughed. He crowded Adam until his back was pressed up against the tree and kissed him and kissed him until Declan came over and told him it was time to go.

Ronan cupped Adam’s face in his hands and leaned in until their foreheads touched. Adam’s face was flushed and soft and sweet. Ronan brushed his thumb over the freckles that dotted Adam’s cheeks. “I’m going to miss you,” he murmured.

Adam squeezed his wrists and rubbed his thumbs over Ronan’s pulse. “It’s just a few days.” Ronan sighed. “Dream me something nice and then, when you come back, you can stay over and I’ll make us drinks and you can tell me all about the island. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.” They shared one more kiss, soft and lingering, and then Ronan left.

Back at Monmouth Ronan packed a bag, his heart thudding painfully. He wanted to take Adam with him. Not just because he loved him and wanted to spend as much time as possible with him, but because he was worried. The nightmare nagged at his mind and he felt like he was running out of time. Kavinsky had been quiet since their last encounter, too quiet. Whatever he was up to, Ronan had a feeling it was nothing good.


	39. Chapter 39

Declan’s Volvo was out in the Monmouth lot at the unholy hour of five in the morning. Ronan stood at the window and squinted, his eyes stinging from the brights of Declan’s headlights. He hadn’t slept all night and was irritable and wired and not at all ready to spend an entire day trapped in the car with his brother.

His phone pinged, probably a text from Declan who, at least, was polite enough not to honk his horn. Not that it would have mattered. Noah didn’t need to sleep and Gansey was, the last time Ronan checked, sprawled amongst the buildings of his model Henrietta, watching the progress of a ladybug and talking to Malory about burial shrouds.

The phone made another noise, a prolonged wailing that Ronan suspected was the ringtone. Clearly the household ghost was pranking him again.

“I hate you, Noah!” Ronan shouted. He grabbed his backpack and slung it over his shoulder and scooped up the phone. He was only bringing it so that he could talk to Adam.

“Lies!” Noah yelled back. He popped into Ronan’s room, bypassing the door, and wailed. “I recorded that one just for you. It’s my aria called ‘Banshee.’”

“Fucking ridiculous,” Ronan muttered and playfully cuffed Noah’s shoulder. “Move, move, I’ve got to get to the car before Declan tries storming the castle.”

Noah moved and Ronan walked out into the main room. Gansey sat up and rubbed at his eyes, stifling a yawn. He put his hand over the phone, got to his feet, and headed for Ronan.

“Do you have everything you need? Toothbrush? Sunscreen? Phone charger?” Gansey asked. His hair was a tangled wreck and his wire frame glasses were hopelessly lost in the mess.

“Yes, dear,” Ronan smirked. “You packed for me, remember?”

“Well,” Gansey patted Ronan’s shoulders a couple times, “you might have unpacked. That backpack might be brimming with… with…” Gansey frowned like he was chasing down the worst thing he could think of. His eyes lit up as he loudly proclaimed, “Intoxicants!”

Ronan stared.

“Yeah, Gansey, I’m running off to Florida fueled only by _intoxicants_.”

“That’s the only way to visit Florida,” Noah said dolefully.

Gansey nodded, “He’s not wrong. I take it all back.”

Ronan’s phone wailed again, making Gansey jump and Noah snort. Ronan jammed his index finger against his phone until it went silent and dark. When he looked up Gansey and Noah were giving him sad eyes.

“Oh, fuck off,” Ronan growled, “I hate goodbyes. Anyways I’ll be back before you know it. Don’t let Cheng trash the place.”

Gansey blushed. “Wha??” His voice cracked. “That’s ah… not what I was planning?”

“Lying!” Noah sang out. Gansey lunged to swat him and Noah shot off towards the pool table, cackling.

With both of them distracted Ronan slipped out the door and jogged down the stairs and out to the waiting Volvo. Matthew was curled up on the backseat, a pillow under his head and a seatbelt fastened over his hips. Declan was in the process of tossing a blanket over Matthew. Ronan got in the passenger seat and set his bag down between his legs; it contained all of his family roadtrip survival tools, which would be worthless to him in the truck.

Declan finished covering Matthew and turned to Ronan. In the unforgiving interior lights Declan looked almost as drained as Ronan felt.

“Hey man, are you good to drive?” Ronan asked. “Because I don’t want to die today.”

Declan picked up a huge to go coffee from the cup holder and took a long drink.

“I can’t believe you got coffee and didn’t even buy me breakfast,” Ronan complained.

Declan sighed quietly and backed the car up before pulling onto the deserted street. “McDonald’s serves breakfast all day,” he commented wearily. “We’ll stop when Matthew wakes up. Anyways, I thought you didn’t need to eat to survive.”

“That’s Noah,” Ronan said. He slumped into his seat and threw his hood over his head. The truth was he did forget to eat, almost as often as he failed to sleep. Being with Adam had helped because Adam, broke though he was, insisted on ‘self-care’ which, apparently, included eating.

“Great. You eat more than a ghost.” Declan reached behind his seat and, careful not to jostle Matthew, retrieved a box of CLIF Bars. “Here.” He handed the box to Ronan. “To tide you over.”

Ronan sighed. “Really Declan? CLIF Bars? Where are the Little Debbie cakes and Cheetos?”

Declan pinched the bridge of his nose. “I grew up with you. I know what you’re like when you eat Cheetos. You’ll wipe your nasty orange fingers against the side of the seat where you think I won’t notice and you’ll brush crumbs on the floor. You’ll also chew as loud as possible just to be annoying.”

“I did that when I was eight!”

“You were thirteen!”

“No I wasn’t!”

“You were too!”

“Was NOT!”

“YES, you were—”

Declan was about to go full Niall Lynch when Matthew’s sleepy voice interrupted him.

“Hey guys?” Matthew murmured. “I’m trying to fuckin’ sleep.”

“Language!” Ronan and Declan said at once, whipping around to give Matthew admonishing looks. But he was already snuggled back into his pillow, soft snores filling the car.

Declan turned around and signaled to merge onto I-64. The sky was tinged with grey light and the interstate had sparse traffic, mostly 18-wheelers pushing on from the night and into the dawn. Ronan felt his irritation seep away into the morose reality that he was going to be stuck in the passenger seat for over ten hours. The only consolation was that Declan was a competitive driver and liked to go faster than anyone else. Already they were going fifteen over the speed limit as Declan settled the Volvo into the far left lane, setting the cruise control before digging around for his Armani shades. Smug bastard.

“What?” Declan asked when he noticed Ronan looking.

“I’m bored,” Ronan drawled. “When do I get to drive?”

“You’re not driving my car. Don’t you have a book to read or something?” Declan huffed. It was impossible to believe that Declan had only recently become an adult. He bore the mantle of insufferable superiority like a second skin.

“The only book Gansey packed for me is in Latin because he wants me to translate it.” Ronan pulled out a binder thick with copied pages. “He didn’t even give me the original. Had the entire thing scanned or some shit because he doesn’t have a life outside of Glendower.”

“He’s dating Blue and Henry,” Declan commented. “That suggests he does, in fact, have a life.”

Ronan shifted in his seat and stared out the window.

“Oh, come on,” Declan prodded, “don’t tell me you disapprove.”

“I didn’t say a thing,” Ronan protested.

“Uh-huh. Tell me, are you mad because he’s dating two people or because he made other friends?”

“I’m not mad,” Ronan said through gritted teeth. “I made a new friend, too.”

“Yes, color me Very Proud,” Declan said. The sun coming up and shining right into their faces. Declan’s shades masked his full expression but Ronan thought that, maybe, just maybe, Declan was being genuine and not an asshole.

“Yeah, whatever,” Ronan mumbled. “It’s just, Gansey’s so good at  _everything_. I guess it makes sense that when it came to uhh, you know—”

“Romance?” Declan supplied.

“Yeah, sure. That when it came to romance he’d be a natural.”

“He’s always had a big heart,” Declan mused. “I remember when you first brought him home. He took right to everything: mom, dad, the Barns, Matthew. It felt like he fit.”

“You didn’t like him, I remember that,” Ronan said.

Declan’s expression was pinched. “Well, I guess I didn’t like that he seemed to fit with all of you better than I ever did. I didn’t like that dad would rather indulge him and his endless conversation than pay attention to me. And,” Declan continued with a tired sigh, “maybe I didn’t like that he seemed more of a brother to you than I was. I still think that. It’s not Gansey’s fault that I’m jealous.”

Ronan thought that was the most awful confession he had ever heard, and he had heard some truly heart-breaking shit from Kavinsky and Adam. He didn’t know what to say. Each easy response – _that’s not true_ or _you know we all loved you_ or _of course dad liked you more than Gansey, of course I do_ – felt like a lie. And Ronan wasn’t a liar. The silence built until it was something massive, like a thunderhead looming over them. Declan tapped his index finger against the steering wheel and kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead. The only sound was Matthew snoring and the whine of the wind as they sped down the interstate. Ronan had the uncomfortable thought that Declan might never speak to him again if he couldn’t get his brain to come up with a suitable reply.

In the end it was Declan who cracked, eleven minutes later.

“I think,” he said quietly, “that’s why I was drawn to Jiang. He’s always wanted me around and when he said he was interested in me I just thought, _God, fucking finally_.” The aching tone in Declan’s voice wrung at Ronan but still he couldn’t speak. “I hated you when you told Jiang to leave me alone, when you made him break up with me. He wouldn’t talk to me, text me, call me back. He wouldn’t even fucking look at me.” Declan’s voice wobbled and he grabbed his coffee and took a couple sips before continuing. “I have to say, Ronan, those months after that were shit. Now that I know what happened to you it makes all the anger I felt then seem…” Declan chewed at his lip and sniffed. “I’m ashamed that all I did was focus on my loss, that I closed you out. You were suffering and I didn’t know and I didn’t _want_ to know. You got that tattoo and all I thought was _why is Ronan being such a rebellious little shit hasn’t he ruined my life enough_.”

Ronan cringed. He wanted Declan to shut up but he needed for him to keep talking. It was like being torn apart, like those monks who whipped themselves for penance.

“I’m sorry,” Declan said. Ronan stared at him. He wasn’t expecting this, he didn’t deserve this. “I am sorry that I fucked it all up. I’m sorry that I failed to keep you safe. I’m sorry that I was too blinded by my own issues to understand what was happening to you. I failed as your older brother and guardian and I’m never going to be able to—” Declan choked and a tear slid down, from beneath his shades, catching on the corner of his mouth. Declan swiped at it and wiped his hand against his jeans.

Ronan felt like his entire world was being shaken apart. He had never thought Declan was broken. But this man sitting across from him was cracked into a thousand pieces, only barely holding together. That wasn’t right. It was more like he _had_ broken and then rebuilt himself piece by piece but he had done an imperfect job. There were gaps and places where the pieces didn’t align. And… Ronan clenched his fists. His brother wasn’t a goddamned piece of pottery. His brother was sitting right there – _crying_ – and he was thinking about his reaction to Declan’s pain, not Declan.

“Pull over,” Ronan said. His voice came out harsher than he meant and he saw Declan tighten his hands on the steering wheel. “C’mon Declan, you shouldn’t drive while you’re upset.”

“I’m fine,” Declan snapped, his cheeks flushed. “I mean,” he cleared his throat and tried again, softer. “I’ll be fine. Sorry to unload all of that on you first thing. I didn’t intend to say all that; it was just that once I started talking I couldn’t stop. You know?”

Ronan thought of the nights he had spent at Adam’s, talking, getting everything off his chest.

“Yeah,” he said, “I get that.”

Declan nodded and drank more coffee. He checked the rearview mirror, checked Matthew. “Is there any chance,” Declan whispered, “that you would ever forgive me, for what I’ve done and failed to do?”

“God, I’m not your priest, Declan. You don’t need my forgiveness,” Ronan said. Even as he said it he knew it was the wrong thing.

Declan whipped off his shades and stared right at Ronan, his blue eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot. “ _I do_ ,” he insisted. “If you can’t give it to me, say so. I will live working for your forgiveness. But don’t tell me that I don’t need it.”

There was a high, thin desperation to Declan that Ronan had only seen once, when the will had been read and their lives had been turned upside down again.

“Declan,” Ronan pleaded, “please pull over. I can’t talk to you like this. We’re going over 90 miles per hour and I— this isn’t easy for me, okay? God, could you just fucking get us off the road for five minutes?!”

Declan nodded and pointed to a sign for a rest area that was five miles away. At this speed they’d be there in a few minutes. Ronan shut his eyes and prayed.

The rest area was mostly empty but Declan still parked at the far end away from the other vehicles and the welcome center. Matthew didn’t wake though he did make vague noises and shift around like a cat searching for the optimal sleeping position.

Ronan got out of the car and Declan followed him up to one of the cement picnic tables. Ronan wanted to pace but he knew it would be better if he kept still so he sat on top of the table and faced Declan who had, mercifully, left his shades in the car.

“I said I didn’t need your forgiveness,” Ronan began, “because I don’t feel like I deserve your apology. When dad died we both said things and did things that broke us. After that I didn’t want you to be my brother and I treated you like shit. I froze you out. When Kavinsky… happened… I was all fucked up. And for the first time since dad I got scared for you and I knew I had to protect you but I went about it all wrong and hurt you even more.” Ronan tried to keep eye contact with Declan but failed. He hung his head, his fingers laced together tight like he was in the confessional. “That’s why I’m saying you shouldn’t apologize to me when I have so much to apologize for.”

“Ronan.” With his head bowed Ronan watched Declan’s feet move forward until Declan was standing with his knees nearly touching Ronan’s. “Ronan,” Declan said again. His palm came to rest on top of Ronan’s freshly shorn scalp. “We can’t stay like this,” Declan said. He scrubbed his hand roughly over Ronan’s head before cupping the back of his neck and resting his forehead on the top of Ronan’s head. “Can’t we absolve each other and try again?” His weight pressed down on Ronan and it felt as burdensome as a cross.

Ronan tipped towards Declan until his forehead met Declan’s chest. He could smell the coffee on Declan’s breath and a light fragrance that he had noticed around Jiang. He was surprised that the closeness didn’t bother him, even though his hands were trembling, still knotted together.

“I’m sorry,” Ronan whispered into Declan’s shirt. “I’m sorry for everything.” Tears stung his eyes but this time Ronan didn’t blink them away. He watched them fall onto Declan’s shoes. “Will you forgive me?”

“I asked you first,” Declan answered, his voice almost playful. Ronan choked on a laugh.

“Right, you did.” Ronan sat up and unlaced his aching fingers and grabbed Declan’s shoulders. “I forgive you.”

Declan looked like he had lost an enormous burden and gained back five years of life. Tears flowing in earnest, he pulled Ronan into a tight hug and slapped his back.

“Thank you,” Declan half-sobbed. He squeezed Ronan one more time and let him go, only to take Ronan’s face in his hands so that eye contact was inescapable. Ronan tried not to squirm. “I forgive you,” Declan said.

“You better,” Ronan grumbled and hugged Declan again, “you bastard.”

“Ah, there’s the Ronan I know and love,” Declan laughed. They held the hug for a few more moments before pulling away. “So we good?”

“Yes, we’re good, Declan, Jesus Christ,” Ronan said, kicking at Declan’s shins. “But we’d be even better if you got me McDonald’s.”

“Next exit, hand to God,” Declan swore, holding his hand up.

“And let me drive.”

“Oh, Ronan, I love you but I might love my Volvo more.” Declan’s grin was a thin cover for the furious happiness that was practically radiating off him.

“You asshole,” Ronan said before tackling him and sending them both careening down the hill, cursing the entire way. They came to a halt next to the Volvo, grass-stained and bruised and laughing.

Matthew opened the back door and blinked at them in sleepy confusion. “Did someone say we were getting McDonald’s?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I’m back! Sorry for the long hiatus. 2) If you feel like you just experienced a Winchester bros special… uhh… I watch too much Supernatural so… 3) Perfect song for this update “I Have Made Mistakes” by The Oh Hellos. 4) Yes I brought the silly McDonald’s meme into Tea Boys. I regret nothing. 5) Istg we’ll get to Florida and the mysterious island next! 6) No tea, just coffee - sorry, Adam!


	40. Chapter 40

Ronan jerked awake as the Volvo smoothly decelerated and exited the interstate. He wiped drool from the side of his face and blinked groggily, taking in his new surroundings. The land was flat, the ground sandy, pine trees and palmettos broke up the monotony of the landscape. Declan parked the car and opened his door, letting in the oppressive heat and humidity, as well as the smell of hot asphalt and car fumes.

“Where the fuck are we?” Ronan grumbled, unfastening his seatbelt and stretching.

Matthew’s eyes were glued to his phone but he answered, “Somewhere in Georgia. You’ve been asleep for hours and hours.”

Ronan’s stomach growled loudly. He looked at the clock on the dash; it was just after one in the afternoon.

“Christ,” Ronan muttered. He got out of the car and stretched some more before bracing his hands on the hood of the car and popping his back. He cracked his neck next, then all of his knuckles. By the time he was through he was mostly awake and Declan had returned, sipping from a bottled Starbucks frappuccino.

“Afternoon,” Declan said. His usual suave veneer was missing and he looked rumpled under the bright Georgia sun. “Thought you were going to sleep all the way to Florida.”

“We’re close?” Ronan asked.

Declan swallowed half his drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah, between two or three hours depending on traffic.”

Ronan leaned against the side of the car, wincing at the heat radiating off the metal. “I can’t believe I slept for so long…”

“Six hours,” Declan agreed. “I thought maybe the bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit you ate was drugged or something.”

Ronan shrugged. He still felt exhausted. If Adam was here he would say that Ronan’s brain was trying to recover from mental and emotional strain and that his body was crashing after a night of no sleep. If Adam were here he would give Ronan a glass of iced green tea with lemon or mint and tell him about all the health benefits of the drink.

“I’m gonna go get a snack,” Ronan said, gesturing to the rest stop. “They got anything good in there?”

“You’ll find something,” Declan replied. “Take Matthew. And get me another coffee?” He yawned widely and stretched up onto his toes. “I’m still good to drive but the coffee helps.”

“Sure.”

Declan nodded his thanks and walked away from the car towards the concrete picnic tables. He had his phone out and Ronan watched the way Declan’s posture slumped as he raised the phone to his ear, waiting for his call to connect. He noticed the exact moment that Jiang must have answered because Declan straightened up and his stride went from weary to jaunty. He could hear a few words before Declan was out of range: happy words of greeting, a laugh. Ronan turned away and pulled the back door open.

“Out,” he commanded. Matthew aimed a kick at his knee as he wormed his way out of the backseat.

“Carry me,” Matthew said plaintively. He slumped against the car, his faded Blink-182 shirt falling off one shoulder. Ronan reached over and pulled the shirt straight and fluffed Matthew’s blond curls.

“Nope,” Ronan said. “You’re too heavy and too lazy. But if you walk in there I’ll get you some powdered doughnuts.”

“Declan,” Matthew said before yawning. “Declan said no powdered doughnuts in the car.”

“I bet he did.” Ronan glanced over to find Declan sprawled on the long bench next to the picnic table, one arm raised over his head, gesturing while he talked. “C’mon, Matty-boy. Last one there has to walk back barefoot!”

Ronan sprinted for the building and heard Matthew racing after him, his stupid flip-flops loudly smacking the pavement. Ronan dodged around road weary tourists and truckers and families, laughing at the sheer joy of being able to _move_. He beat Matthew easily and stepped into the air-conditioned building. The cool air was a relief after the hellish heat. His corner of Virginia got hot during the summer but this… this was something else.

Matthew joined him and they wandered by the Georgia tourism displays. The speakers were playing a fiddle-heavy song that Ronan had heard a long time ago, something about the devil going down to Georgia. It was infernally catchy. Matthew found cardboard standees of characters from The Walking Dead, a TV show that he watched religiously with the Vancouver Crew, and made Ronan take pictures of him posing with Rick and Carl.

“My Instagram is gonna be lit,” Matthew bragged as he took his phone back from Ronan. “I can’t wait until we get to the beach! Maybe we’ll see dolphins! Or sharks! What do you think, Ronan?”

Ronan studied a map of the coast of Georgia and northern Florida. “Maybe,” he murmured. Where did the ley line fit on this map? He couldn’t feel a difference, wasn’t aware of the pulse of the line like the psychics. Again he wished that Adam could have come with them.

After taking a restroom break Ronan and Matthew found the bank of vending machines and debated which snacks to get. Matthew got fruit Gushers and s’mores Pop-Tarts. Ronan bought pizza-flavored chips and powdered doughnuts. They got drinks for themselves and another frappuccino for Declan. Ronan bought Adam a souvenir: a Georgia license plate keychain with his name on it. Predictably there was no such charm for DECLAN or RONAN. Matthew found his name and gloated.

“I’m the ‘normally’ named one in the family,” Matthew said, using air quotes around the word _normal_. “Everyone else has Irish names but not me.”

They stepped outside and the heat overwhelmed Ronan all over again. Hopefully the island would be less muggy.

Ronan couldn’t remember the circumstances of Matthew’s naming. Had he named his brother? Or had Niall or possibly Aurora?

“You look like a Matthew,” Ronan said, “and no one else. Can you imagine being Patrick?”

Matthew cocked his head to the side and mumbled, “Patrick Lynch. Patrick Lynch.”  He stopped after a moment and shook his head. “Naw,” he conceded, “that doesn’t work.”

“At any rate,” Ronan continued, “we’re all named after saints so there’s your connection. The saintly Lynch brothers.”

“Oh Lord,” Matthew laughed. “We’re the worst saints to ever live.”

Ronan nodded. “Speaking of…” He opened the powdered doughnuts and handed one to Matthew. “Here, rub that under your nose and then get some powder on your shirt.”

“Why?” Matthew asked even though he was already doing as Ronan said. He wrinkled his nose at the powdered sugar and Ronan about lost it.

“Just a little prank for Declan’s benefit,” Ronan replied before shoving two doughnuts into his mouth.

Declan was sitting in the car, the motor running and the AC blasting from the vents. Ronan slid into his seat and plucked at his shirt, which, despite only being outside for a minute, was sticking to his sweaty skin.

“Tell me it’ll be better on the island,” Ronan moaned and leaned towards the nearest vent.

“It should be,” Declan said. He took the frappuccino from Ronan and took a couple long drinks. “Are we ready to go?”

Matthew cheered enthusiastically and Declan grinned and turned around to high five his brother. His expression instantly went from amused to alarmed.

“Ronan what the fuck is on Matthew’s face and shirt?” Declan demanded.

Ronan turned to look, feigning ignorance. “Good God. Matthew, I thought you gave up crack?”

Matthew giggled and wiped the powder off his face, smearing it on the front of his shirt.

Declan glared at Ronan. “Cut the crap, Ronan, and hand over the contraband.”

Ronan passed Declan the remainder of the doughnuts and Declan, very carefully, lifted one of the doughnuts from the package and lowered it into his mouth. He ate the last doughnut in the same manner before rolling down the window and dusting his fingers outside the car. He drank some of his coffee and sighed.

“That’s how you eat powdered doughnuts, you heathens,” he muttered.

Ronan rolled his eyes. “So fussy.”

“I don’t want ants in here,” Declan reasoned. He fastened his seatbelt and backed the car up. His shades were in place again and he looked annoyingly cool. They were back on the interstate in moments and Declan ordered Ronan to consult the GPS to see how the traffic looked. Matthew resumed whatever game he was playing. Ronan scanned the radio stations before settling on a station out of Jacksonville that played electronica. Declan either didn’t care about the music or he was tuning it out because he didn’t complain. Ronan amused himself by reading bumper stickers and billboards, memorizing the best ones so he could tell Adam and Gansey and Noah about them. A glaringly yellow sign was repeated several times, the large board featuring scantily clad women with bold black letters promising “WE BARE ALL.” Ronan gagged a little.

Declan snorted.

“What?” Ronan asked.

“Oh…” Declan said, “you. You’re not subtle.”

“Excuse me if I’m not ready to endorse Strippers Paradise,” Ronan countered.

“Uh-huh.”

Ronan decided to ignore Declan and continue his mental tally of the number of Ron Jon Surf Shop and Indian River Fruit billboards. Truly this stretch of Interstate was the most boring on the planet. Not a single hill or sharp turn to be had.

Thankfully the traffic kept moving at a steady pace and they soon passed from Georgia into Florida; Matthew insisted that they all cheer.

“Thank God,” Declan sighed.

“I could drive…” Ronan tried for the tenth time since they had left the rest area.

“Not. Happening.” Declan repeated, for the tenth time.

—–

They ended up in a small town on the Atlantic. Declan stopped at an ancient looking Food Lion and the three of them shopped for supplies. Next they stopped at the gas station where Declan refueled and filled several containers with diesel. Finally they arrived at the marina.

The air was rich with the smell of the ocean; Ronan could practically taste the salt. Gulls shrilled and dove overhead or perched in flocks, giving Ronan the side eye. Pelicans and strange dark birds manned the posts along the dock.

Declan led the way to a sleek white boat named _Aurora’s Dream_. It was raised out of the water and it looked impossibly clean.

“Dream thing?” Ronan asked.

Declan nodded. “Dad paid a small fortune to keep it docked here basically forever? He had some understanding with the owner.”

“Sounds shady,” Matthew said.

“Sounds like dad,” Ronan agreed.

Declan climbed on the boat and checked it over while Ronan and Matthew carried the supplies to the boat. Ronan couldn’t believe that they were here, that this place actually existed. He set down the last load and looked around. The other boats weren’t nearly as nice as Niall’s dream creation; they looked like they were regularly used, maybe for fishing. The dock was deserted and Ronan wasn’t sure if that was normal or not. Waves slapped against the dock and echoed under the overhang that sheltered their birth; the other docks were uncovered. A stiff breeze wicked his shirt away from his skin and helped to alleviate the heat.

Matthew started hauling supplies onto the boat and Declan emerged from the cabin, wiping his hands on his shirt.

“We’re good,” Declan announced. “Dad made this thing so that it doesn’t need fuel to run. It also has a unique nav system; you say the magic words and it’ll take you where you want to go, no steering required.”

“Well that’s handy,” Ronan commented.

“Dad looking out for us land lubbers, I guess.” Declan’s expression was wistful as he ran his hand along the boat. “It’s been so long since I’ve been here…”

Ronan lowered his head and studied his boots which looked wildly out of place; maybe he should have taken Adam’s advice and brought sandals.

Matthew tossed the last of the supplies onto the boat and stood at Declan’s shoulder, practically quivering with excitement.

“This is really happening, isn’t it?” he looked from Declan to Ronan, his wide eyes gleaming.

“Yep,” Declan answered and ruffled Matthew’s hair. “You two might want to put on some sunscreen before we get out to sea.”

Ronan took one last look at the shore and climbed on board. Declan employed the mechanism that lowered the boat into the water and started the boat. The boat motor rumbled to life. Ronan gripped the side of the boat, his balance unsteady as Declan put the boat in reverse and eased it away from the dock.

Matthew whooped and leaned forward, babbling enthusiastically while Declan got them on their way. Ronan felt a slight panic as they moved away from the shore; he was used to having his feet firmly on the earth, or at least having the wheels of his car firmly on the earth. The buoyancy felt unnerving, the mysteries of the ocean roiling beneath them were unnerving.

“All right, Ronan?” Declan yelled over the drone of the motor.

“Fucking fantastic!” Ronan yelled back. Declan smiled widely, showing off all his obnoxiously white teeth. The sun glittered on his sunglasses and he looked at home behind the wheel.

“Next stop,” Declan shouted, “Seal Island!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I AM SO SORRY THAT I HAVEN’T UPDATED IN SO LONG. 2018 has been really hard and it’s difficult for me to focus/write but I’m trying to make a comeback. Secondly, this update is based on my many, many road trips with my family. I grew up in central Georgia and at least once a year we would all drive to south Florida to see family, a trip that took at least nine hours one way. So the rest stops and billboards are from my memories. Thirdly, I haven’t been on a boat in years so I’m sorry I’m kind of lacking on knowledge/experience… I’m winging it. If you’re still reading THANK YOU. Maybe one day we’ll return to tea content.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is my first time posting to AO3 so if you have suggestions please let me know! I've been writing and posting this AU on my tumblr, @dkafterdark, and adding other content (mostly pictures and posts that inspire me) just search the tags for "tea boys." Cheers!


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